Raising Rascals

Schtuff

2011-03-24T12:00:00.000-05:00

1. It's Spring Break for most of the world this week, except for us. Well, kinda. My fancy planning calendar that I spent way too much time making out at the beginning of the year says that we are working through this week, because our Spring Break will come 'round Easter. The fact that we've only had a full school day once this week seems to be speaking to the fact that it is, in fact, Spring Break for us, too. For the record, though, it is super hard to keep ~~myself~~ the kids motivated when everyone and their 2nd cousin asks how our Spring Break is going and the response that I have to continually hear is, "We don't have Spring Break. Our mom makes us work." Nice.

2. My red-headed pool of sunshine turned NINE this week. Crazily impossible. I have found myself saying those way overused words, "It happens so fast," way too often this week. Really? Nine? Say it ain't so, Joe.

3. While still under total delusion of only have one baby, I made a decision and a pact that I would ALWAYS make my kids' birthday cakes. No expectations. Totally kicking myself for my attitude of resolve on the matter now. For his big 9th birthday, Sawyer requested an interesting creation. His criteria: (a) had to be orange (b) had to be baseball (c) had to have the pirate skull & crossbones (d) Had to be chocolate. Mmmkay...

This is what I came up with.
Notice that nowhere on his list is Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Hmmm....Oh well.
Somehow I managed to convince him that pirates think dinosaurs are way cool......

4. We are up to our ears in baseball. I'm not going to complain, because this is definitely my favorite time of year, but I will say that we are just plain B.U.S.Y. Between all 3 boys, we have 4 different baseball teams. Two regular league teams, and two traveling tournament teams. Needless to say, we are at a ballfield 7 days a week. And if we just so happen to squeeze in a day without a practice or a game, that day is spent hashing over plays at the dinner table, hitting in the batting cage, or washing a uniform of somekind. Definitely tiring, but good times.

5. I declared today a NO ELECTRONICS day, and, can I just tell you, that I am loving it. Instead of fighting over whose turn it is for this DS game or for that iPod charger, the boys have dragged out every lego and action figure that we own. They've constructed a huge city in the living room and are playing some intense game of super heroes meets combat war zone meets Star Wars. I LOVE IT. Maybe their DSs and iPods should mysteriously disappear for awhile.....

6. I made a uber-long list of projects that really need to be completed around the house. Closets that need to be cleaned out, moldings that need to be painted, drawers and cabinets that need to be purged and organized. I probably should tackle that list on my now impromptu Spring Break, but I really just don't want to. Instead I think I'll just go read a book in the sun. Sounds equally urgent.

7. I went to the dentist yesterday. 'Nuff said.

8. My Lenten fast is going really really well. I've made it 16 days now and feel better than I have in ages. I even resisted a piece of the orange chocolate T-Rex pirate baseball cake this weekend. Although I will tell you that right now there is a jar of ranch dip and a package of open taterchips sitting next to me on my bar, and I'm about to lose my religion over it. The children love to play this little torture game with me....

9. I still haven't done our taxes. I probably should get on that, huh?

10. American Idol is making me swoon. So much good talent in one tiny space. My favorites are cutie-pie screecher James, quirky white-teeth Paul, Southern Belle sweetie Lauren, and ornery-as-all-get-out Casey. Actually at this point, I'm just rootin' for the ones that I want to get kicked off, because after they're gone, it'll all be cake for me. Love this season...

Alrighty.....time to ~~do laundry~~ cozy up with my book in the sunshine....

If you need me, I'm the one with the stupid sun-drunk grin on my face.

Lent -- Not Just For BellyButtons Anymore

2011-03-18T09:49:00.001-05:00

I've been asked about my choosing to fast certain things for Lent, and though I do maintain that it is something that is fairly private between me and the Lord, I decided to go ahead and share, because I do think this season will prove to be a very drastic turning point for my relationship with the Father.

I've never observed Lent before. Ever.

I actually never really knew what it was until just a few years ago when some of my nontraditional Baptist friends began discussing giving up strongholds for Lent, for up until that time "lint" was the stuff that stuck in my bellybutton and the stuff that I had to clean out of my dryer trap. You see, growing up in a strict conservative Southern Baptist home, we didn't observe Lent or other so-called "legalistic" Christian holidays. I don't think my parents necessarily frowned upon them, we just weren't taught about them, and they weren't observed.

Last Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, I was reading through some Twitter and Facebook statuses and kept seeing people refer to Lent. And so I was intrigued. I hopped online and began researching, trying to figure out if this was just a fad or if it was, in fact, something that could be proved to be legit. I certainly did not want to play into the game of Everyone Else Is Doing It, but wanted to discern whether observing Lent was something that could bring me into a higher dependence upon the Lord.

After reading several good (and several bad) articles and commentaries on Lent, I decided to just fore-go all the theological mumbo-jumbo and go with my gut. I have no idea if I'm observing Lent in all the "right" ways or not, but I decided to put my very simple mind's view on the matter and just go with it.

From what I have read, Lent is a period in which a person is called to give-up an item or more that has proved to be a stronghold for them. The idea being that if it is given up for the period of Lent, then a higher devotion to the Lord to fill the void will take place. Thus leading, hopefully, to pattern changes and our dependency on the Lord increases. (DISCLAIMER: Again I will say...I'm no theologian and don't want to be. I'll leave that to the folks that like that kind of thing. I may have it all wrong, but I'm pretty confident that Christ will be happy with my effort even if I'm calling it "Lent" even if it's really not. Basically, I don't really know what I'm talking about...but this is working for me and Jesus right now...so I'm going with it.)

A lot of my friends who observe Lent have given up Facebook, Twitter, and/or other types of social media. Some have given up television, or at least certain television shows that they are locked into religiously. Some have disconnected their internet for the 40 day period, and others have given up blogging. I wasn't really feeling led down those certain ways, because although they would definitely have been my stronghold last year at this time, I've kind of grown past that a bit. Don't get me wrong...I still LOVE the computer and all of its connectedness, but I can go for days without it and feel just fine. So that didn't seem like the route to go. I also recently gave up some "bad" television shows (ahem...Jersey Shore) that had me entirely way too hooked into their ridiculousness, but wasn't really feeling like giving tv up was the right path for me either. Because at this point, I could take it or leave it.

So I examined.

And what I discovered is that I spend entirely way too much time thinking about how hungry I am. I'm a nervous eater. I'm an emotional eater. I'm a restless eater. I'm a bored eater. And I'm a social eater. I.Love.Food. It can be a bowl of cereal before bed or a full-on gluttonous display of pasta devouring. Doesn't matter. I love to eat.

So I decided that FOOD was an obvious stronghold for me. I knew that if I channeled as much energy into my relationship with Christ as I did my refrigerator, then big things could change within me.

So, just like that, with no real pondering, I gave up food. On Ash Wednesday. In a matter of 10 minutes. No planning. No weaning myself off of food the week prior. Just a cold turkey fast. (Because I tend to be a little quick on the trigger!)

Then I remembered that Lent was for 40 days. And I realized that although this was going to be a momentous occasion for my spiritual life, I was also still a human... And I didn't really want to die of starvation.

So I tweaked my fasting plan.

To fruits and vegetables only. No sugar. No coffee. No pasta. No bread. No meat.

For two reasons: 1...I had to eat something in 40 days. And 2...I despise fruits and vegetables, so it seemed a perfect fit for my dependency issues. Because the only way I was actually going to make it on a diet of broccoli and green apples was by the Grace of God.

(Please don't lecture me on the neccessity of certain nutrients, etc. I've studied up on that, too, and have just decided that with my heart and mind in the right place, that God will see my very human body through the period.)

And so, here I am, 10 days in, and nothing has passed my lips that isn't a veggie or a fruit. I'm eating my baked potatoes without butter, cheese, and sour cream, and I'm foregoing dumping cream cheese and cool-whip on my grapes.

And it's hard.

But it is easier than I ever thought it would be. Because I'm learning that I have the diligence to stick to something that seems totally far-fetched and crazy for me to manage, and because I have a whole lot of extra time on my hands to focus on the things that really matter.

Another disclaimer...
This is totally just my deal. I don't think anyone should do it, unless they feel called to do so. It's not a diet plan or a time-management strategy. It's hard and it makes you cranky and it makes people think that you have lost your ever-loving mind. So please don't turn all vegan or disconnect your television because you read this post. It really needs to be something between you and the Lord. This isn't a self-help commercial by any means. Because if I was trying to help MYSELF then I'd be in my car and at the nearest Olive Garden in the next 20 minutes.

I have no doubt that after Easter, I will return to eating meat and pasta and cupcakes and bread and all my other favorite foods. But I hope and desire that I will do so without the attachment and dependence on the food that I used to have. Hopefully, food will just be food, and not my crutch.

So...that's my Lent story.

Do you have one? I'd love to hear it!

Raw

2011-03-18T09:02:00.001-05:00

I'm raw.

My emotions have been scraped so far down to the bone that one word mistakenly said or a slight unfortunate tone in a voice is like hot bleach searing through my flesh.

My status on facebook yesterday was that I felt like I was doing all that I could do to just dig my nails in and claw my way through the day. I think some people thought I just needed a cup of coffee or that my fast that I've taken on for Lent has finally made me walk on the wrong side of the crazy track. But, really, I have just reached a plateau of really really hard days.

I'm trying to reexamine myself and really dig deep to discover who it is that I'm called to be.

I've always been a lively personality, but it wasn't until very recently that I've become confident and secure enough in myself that I have been able to throw off the worrying-what-everyone-thinks jacket and really step into the this-is-me-take-it-or-leave-it arena. It was a hard, scary transition, but a very liberating one. I felt free to be my inner sarcastic, fun-loving, live-on-the-edge self.

But I'm struggling with whether that is who I'm called to be.

Am I called to put aside that inner drive to be blatantly honest about myself and who I am, choosing to not hide behind any curtains, and just let-it-all-hang-out (so to speak) in the name of authenticity and transparency? Or is that actually, in fact, the woman God wants me to be, so that I might be an encourager to others? Or am I really just a stumbling block? Am I being a true friend, or a hindrance?

It's been a hard pill to swallow realizing that I perhaps have been driving wedges in God's will and plan. But, I'm also so unconfident in my discernment that I can't tell if I'm just being deceived by raw emotions and feelings that are so hard to categorize and verbalize.

And so I have reached this plateau of not knowing which way to go.

And so I pray. And I wait. And I approach the Throne of Grace with pleading....

And until discerment comes, I will do so quietly.....

Who Knew??

2011-03-15T23:28:00.000-05:00

It was 60% / 40%.

Or maybe 70% / 30%.

Okay...fine. It was totally 95% / 5%. I was only going to go for the fun girls that were going with me. And because it was a fantastic excuse to ditch the testosterone and surround myself with estrogen for three whole days.

I mean, really, how much fun could a place harboring under the name Great Homeschool Conventions be? I was imagining a dresscode that required apple appliques and an addition problem sewn somewhere onto one or more pieces of clothing. And the speakers? Seriously? They were, no doubt, going to be have-it-all-together-apple-applique moms.

Yep...definitely going just to get out of the house and hang with super fun girls.

Lemmetellya...I'm still munching on my words, and they taste like crow.

I learned a ridiculous amount from ridiculously normal people and came away feeling ridiculously bonded to a ridiculously amazing community. Sound hokey? Nada....

Here's a snippet of what I learned:

All homeschooling moms want to pull their hair out. And if they say that they don't...they're lying.
All homeschooling moms want to strangle their children at some point. And if they say that they don't...they're lying.
Most homeschooling moms are disorganized and can't seem to stay on top of maid/teacher/wife/mother/chauffeur/short-order-cook duties. And if they say that they can...they're lying.
If a homeschooling mom actually manages to be somewhat of an organized personality, something in her home/life/school is a complete and utter disaster. And if she says that everything is perfect...she's a liar.
Homeschooling moms also have the joy of dealing with ADD and ADHD kids. We just can't send them home at 3:30 everyday. We get the pleasure of hanging with these precious pups 24/7. Lucky us.
Most homeschooling moms feel totally overwhelmed and completely inadequate at the idea of holding their children's entire educational future in their hands. But most of us are actually doing a darn good job.
Really.really.really.normal people homeschool. People who use the tv as a babysitter just so that they can breathe for 5 minutes, and people who think sports are important, and people who let their kids play way too many hours of video games on school nights. Really normal people.
And.
And.
And.

My list could go on and on.

I did learn some very specific tips and ideas, and I made some very serious curriculum decisions while there. But, mostly what I took away from the convention was that homeschooling isn't weird anymore. It's becoming very much of a social norm. I felt very comfortable in this skin that I'm wearing, and I came away with a new outlook on this very.very important role I'm playing in my boys' futures.

I've also realized that I am in a position of great privilege. I know that I am, along with my fellow homeschoolers, the envy of many folks. Folks that, for whatever reason, wish that they could do what I get to do, but can't or don't or won't. I get the joy of not only being in control of what my kids learn and when and how they learn it, but getting to witness every second of their little lives.

Sure, there are days that I am looking for the first big yellow bus that will drive by the house, so that I can flag down the driver and shove the offspring onboard. But, far many more are the days that I just lavish the time.

I started homeschooling because the other options just weren't working.
Now I realize that I'm homeschooling because I just love being with my kids.

Remind me that I said that the next time you see me waving down that school bus.......

(To Brandi, Jennifer, Sadie, and Amy....thanks for the great company, the great talks, and the great encouragement. xoxoxoxo)

Ketchup

2011-02-26T11:07:00.001-06:00

I'm not really a ketchup lover. I'm more of a mustard gal. In fact, the only thing I will eat ketchup on are McDonald's french fries. And maybe an occasional chicken nugget if I'm feeling sassy that day.

Nope, ketchup's not really my thing.

But today, it's necessary. Because when you haven't blogged for precisely 17 days (the math is courtesy of Jim-Dad), KETCHUP is warranted....or CATSUP....or CATCH-UP. You know...toe-may-toe, toe-maw-toe.

KETCHUP Numero Uno: I have been doing a whole lot of nothing. I feel like I've been very busy and just wave at myself as I come and go, but now that I think of it, I haven't really done much of anything productive. We've managed quite a few full school days which is a miracle in itself, and I did spend several days laid up in bed with the Mystery Virus of TwentyEleven, but other than that...um...can't really think of anything.

Two Bottles of KETCHUP on the Wall:   I had convinced myself that my house is a breeding ground for all kinds of nasty because I've been so extremely and remarkably busy. But, thanks to the realization of Numero Uno up there, I now need to double up on my Prozac seeing as my depression level just hit an all time high. My house is gross because I don't like to clean. And because I do stuff like spend 3 hours searching the web for a new blingy iPhone case. Hmmmm.....admission is the first step to recovery, right?

KETCHUP III: Back to the Mystery Virus of TwentyEleven.... All I wanted to do was sleep. And then when I would get up, I'd get overwhelmingly nauseous and go back to sleep. And then I'd wake up with a headache from the underside of Hades. It was like I was waking up from having had one too many margaritas every 5 minutes. But I hadn't. Honest. But now that I think of it, I will now refer to it as the MMV. The Mystery Margarita Virus. Catchy.

Doing It FOUR the KETCHUP: While I was down and out with the MMV, I discovered a ridiculous time-waster. If you're an iPhone/iTouch/iPad user, run away. Do not read any further, lest you be lured in by the siren song of the POCKETFROG. Lord.Love.A.Frog. I'll just leave it at that..... And don't say that I didn't warn you.

KETCHUP #5: The husband is doing mucho muchly better. He's off his crutches and is back at work and all of that other good stuff.  He did tell me the other day that he can now feel the weather changing in his knee. So now he is one of THOSE people. Awesome. Next I'll be lulled to sleep with stories of his yesteryears when he walked to school barefoot....

KETCHUP x6:   The gym that I ~~pay money to~~ attend ran a special for the year of 2011. They offered this ridiculous membership deal that gave you the whole year for the cost of 3 months. Pretty sweet deal. Too good to pass up. It was pure motivation back in January when I re-upped the membership under the new sweet deal to finally whittle away the years of cupcakes and Diet Dr. Peppers that have so kindly attached themselves to my hips. It is now the last of February, and I can count on two hands the times I've darkened the doors of the gym this year. But I would need a whole room full of hands to add up the amount of cupcakes I've inhaled. Sigh....

Seven Swans a'KETCHUPing: I'm going to try to finish up the curtains for my living room today. It has been exactly a year since the Great Living Room Remodel was completed, and I'm just.now getting to the curtains. Procrastinate, much?

KETCHUP Eighthly: A super sweet friend took all three boys out for pizza and roller skating last night. So, I, in turn, devoured a huge plate of spinach ravioli at my favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant and then caught up on a bunch of shows that have been tucked away in my DVR. What a blessing. Thanks, Melissa!! (Oh..and the boys had a great time, too.)

Nine KETCHUPS:   I have a standing coffee/dessert date with my besties every Wednesday while the boys are at an after-school program at one of the local churches. Thanks to the Snowpocalypse AND the husband's whacked out knee AND the Mystery Margarita Virus, I've had to miss every date since the beginning of the year. Not cool, y'all. So not cool. Praise to all things good and made of coffee, though, we were able to meet up this past Wednesday, and it was so therapeutic. There is nothing quite like solving the world's problems over way too many cups of coffee and a bowl of blackberry cobbler.

10 Little KETCHUP Packets Jumping On the Bar:   I read a tremendous book the other day. It's called Lies I Told My Children, and, y'all, I could've written this book. The author, Karen McQuestion, is my new kindred spirit, and I'm so tempted to track her down just to hug her neck. And to see if she is my long lost twin. Because she talks like me, writes like me, and parents like me. And in my head she looks just like me. She also makes me feel insanely normal. And, in fact, the only thing that makes me sad is that she totally ripped off my book idea that I've had stirring around in my head. Darn her for writing it first.

I could keep the Ketchups going....

I could tell you about my housefly infestation and that I am now rewarding the children in quarters for the number of dead flies they bring to me.

I could also tell you about how I suited up in HazMat gear to clean out the big trash bin by the road that we put our bags of garbage in. It had been ravished by a team of menacing buzzards and crows, and they made one stink of a mess. Dumb birds.

And I could tell you about how I found a ticket stub for a movie that was watched in DECEMBER in the pocket of a pair of jeans in my laundry room. That would be how far behind I am on my laundry....

BUT...I'll save all that for another day of KETCHUP.

Wouldn't want to waste it all in one place....

It's Snow, Yo!

2011-02-09T21:20:00.000-06:00

Ah... Snowmageddon. The Snowpocalypse. A dastardly Snowtastrophe.

Again.

'Tis the third big snow we've had this winter'go'round, and I'm so over it. Like I've said before, we Arkansans don't handle this weather well. The prospect of a few good inches, and it sends us all up in a tizzy. Schools cancel hours before the first snowflake hits, and folks get all kinds of ghetto on eachother in the bread aisle at WalMart. It's hardcore, y'all.

And once again, I'm forced to strap on plastic bags to the feet of the offspring, because while we are most certainly outfitted in all manner of make and model of flip-flop, we ain't got no snow boots up in this hood.

Oh...you thought I was kidding? Oh, no, friend. And we're even classy enough to support all major discount chains. Dollar Tree and Walmart are both proudly repruhzentin'.

Here are some other obligatory snow shots. They pretty much look like the ones from last time, but I never really get tired of staring at rosy snowflaked cheeks wearing Walmart sacks for footwear.....

And then I had to go and open my big mouth....

In an attempt to poke fun of the husband who is still rendered pretty much helpless, I made a snide comment about how if he were a "good dad," then he'd rig up something-or-other to pull the darling angel babies around in the snow...you know, redneck sled style. Because we don't own sleds in the South either....

My sarcasm was beat down like a whipped horse.

Because before you can say, "Don't eat the yellow snow!" -- the husband was crutching his way to the garage to rig up a sled contraption to the Razor. Seriously, Dude? Point taken. I will never question your ability to redneck rig something ever again...bum leg or not.

And then I found out who had to drive the dern thing. In the cold. I don't like to be cold. Or wet. Or cold and wet.

So I took it upon myself to come up with the sexiest get-up I could find.....

Hawt, huh?

And here I am behind the wheel of power....

And here are my victims...uh, I mean...passengers.....

Oh...you only see two? The other one is there....see his legs hanging off of the back? That seemed to be the choice spot. Although I don't know why, what with all the snow ending up in your draw's' and all. Brrr...

Did I mention it was cold? Even with that facemask thing on, I was about to lose my upper lip to frost bite. Plus the face mask belongs to the husband's hunting season, and it smells like feet. Not that the husband smells like feet...I'm just sayin'....

I tooled around our yard and hayfield for a good little bit, pulling boys, making sharp turns so that boys went flying, and driving slow watching boys running their Walmart sacked feet through the snow drifts trying to catch back up to the sled. And then I parked and went inside. Because fun is only fun until Mama gets cold.

The husband crutched out and took some video and picts of the fun, and this is my favorite one:

Because I had just left two kids faceplanted on the driveway.... Snort.Giggle.

And then here is a little video. If you choose to watch it, you'll see the good clean fun of me leaving the Tater Tot in the dust. Again, Snort.Giggle.

So, was the snow horrid? No.

Was it fun? Uh...sure.

Am I ready for Spring? Ab.so.lute.ly.

Have I loved hanging with my men? Snow-Doubt.

Random Highlights and Lowlights of the Past Lots of Hours

2011-02-07T19:04:00.000-06:00

1. I've been sleeping on the couch for 8 nights now. The only place that the husband can sleep comfortably is in the recliner, and I don't like sleeping away from him, so the couch it is. Before you go thinking I'm really syrupy sweet, I have made a habit of reminding him of my martyrdom daily.

2. Due to a small, slight, minute, and rather minuscule miscalculation of the DVR, the husband missed the last 2 minutes of the Super Bowl last night. It was ~~totally my fault, and I spent an hour apologizing via text message from the bedroom that I had confined myself in after the unfortunate incidence~~ totally an accident.

3. The husband went back to work today, and it was so very strange without him here at the house. It's bizarre how quickly our normal and routine can change. I spent a better part of last week trying to use my voodoo mind powers to shoo him on back to work early. And I spent all of today wishing him home. Weird.

4. This weekend, two of the rascals came down with the mystery fever/sore throat/cough virus that seems to be floating around. I have treated everyone like they had the plague and have prayed that I don't come down with it. I'm the captain of this boat right now, and if I were to go down, we'd be sunk for sure.

5. What about Christina Aguilera totally botching our Nation's sacred song during the Super Bowl? Yikes.

6. OH..and the Black Eyed Peas and their light show? I needs me one of those light up suits. That was some serious Boom Boom Pow.

7. Speaking of singing or NOT singing, have you been watching American Idol? What about those new judges? I have had to eat some major crow, because I was one that talked so ugly about the passing of the torch from Simon to Stephen Tyler; Paula to JLo. BUT.I'M.HOOKED. They intrigue me to no end, and I have found myself not.even.missing.Simon.at.all. Didn't think I would ever utter those words.

8. It's supposed to snow. Again. In South Arkansas. Go ahead, Northerners, scoff. But we Southern Belles don't understand all of this frigidity. It's ridiculously cold, and none of us own like-for-real winter garb. The closest I have to a winter coat is a cutie army jacket from Old Navy that most people who live in snow infested places would wear as part of an outfit. And I sent my boys out in the snow last Friday with WalMart sacks tied around their shoes..... Yep. We be ghetto.

9. I almost got blessed with a Skunk Spa package last night. Since the husband is all crutched up, I've been promoted to Chief FireMaker. Our wood pile by the fireplace was running low, so as I walked outside to gather a couple of more logs, I came face to tail with a little stinker. I had already walked fully out of the door and shut the door behind me, so that made it all the more difficult to claw myself back into the house once I realized what I was staring down into. The odor gods must have been smiling on me, because somehow I escaped unsprayed. Although I have no idea how what with my heinous carrying on and screaming like a girl.

I'm sure I could go on with this hot mess....but my brain is fried. I'm in much need of interaction with other estrogen bearers, and since I can't seem to find any within any reasonable distance, I'm going to settle with a gLee marathon and a bowl of icecream. One must improvise in a pinch.

Happy Monday, y'all...
And blessings on your head.

Betcha Didn't Know: The 'Lord Have Mercy' Edition

2011-02-05T14:27:00.000-06:00

Lord Have Mercy. Lord Love a Duck. And Shut the Window and Call Me Edgar.

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That the husband has been home for approximately 288 hours. Give or take a trip to the hospital or two. But I was still husband-sitting, so it totally counts. 288 hours. That's a whole lot of man-tv watching and iced tea fetching.

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That though I'm madly in love with the husband, the old adage "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" makes perfect and complete sense to me now. I've decided that his going to work is good for our marriage. Space and time is good for all of us. The only thing that is saving my sanity now is that he spent the last part of 2010 and the first part of 2011 traveling like a madman, so we're still finding stuff to talk about. For right now....

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That now people are going to be all worried about us and our marriage. Relax. We're good. I've been totally slapped in the face with how much I've taken for granted about the little things that he does around the house to help me, and I'm so saddened for him that his outdoorsy personality has been stuck inside. I also have no doubt that when the time comes for us to spend copious amounts of time together such as our future empty nest and retirement that we are going to be just.fine. As long as no one has knee surgery.... *smirky wink*

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That I'm actually feeling very, very blessed by the timing of all of this surgery/recovery mess. The husband's ACL surgery was actually scheduled for March. Baseball season. And his plans included coaching baseball from the seated comfort of a 5 gallon bucket. Um.Okay. But, this way, he should be good as new come season's starting, so he shouldn't be leaving crutch marks in the baseline. ALSO...the husband is getting ready to take on a huge project that is going to take him away from home most evenings and nights. I had been so dreading this project, because he was supposed to walk straight into the project from all the traveling he had been doing. But now, he's been forced to stay at home and spend a.lot. of quality time with me and the kids. Although it will still be very sour to hardly ever see him once he's recuperated and ready to start on the project, at least we know that we spent lots and lots of hours with him beforehand.

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That the husband now has a whole new respect for the art of homeschooling. I deemed him worthy of the honor of teaching beginning algebra to the 5th grader yesterday, and he quickly awarded me with all kinds of hefty accolades. I'll take "Thank you very much" and "I told you so" for $400, Alex.

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That the husband has decided that being an invalid might just be worth it for his stomach's sake. We've been poured on with heavy food blessings by our precious church family, and, needless to say, we've eaten very.very.very.ridiculously.well this week.

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That I have cabin fever something fierce. I've started hallucinating about my laundry coming to life and eating me. And I haven't even been sneaking the husband's pain killers.

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That the husband is going to attempt to go back to work for a few hours on Monday, and I'm not sure who is more ready.....

Betcha Didn't Know.....

That the husband and I are meeting our besties for lunch later today sans kids, and you would have thought that we won the lottery. This is huge, y'all. We're going to get dressed in real clothes and everything.

Betcha Didn't Know....

...well, I betcha did know...that my resolution of a picture a day/blog everyday has traveled to The Island of Unresoluized Resolutions. I've heard it has made itself quite comfortable there; saddling up right away to my other resolution of gym frequenting and healthy eating. I'm sure they'll live happily ever after.

That's all.
Later, friends.

That Whole 'Sickness & Health" Thing

2011-01-28T16:59:00.001-06:00

After my parents forked over the price of a sleek foreign-made sports car for my college education, I decided that I should have studied something else. I spent 4 years in the education department: cutting, gluing, coloring, reading, and making file folder games. But, it wasn't long after graduation that I wished I had done something else.

Nursing school.

I should have gone to nursing school.

I have thought a couple of times through the years about dropping everything and joining up in the program. Don my scrubs and get to work saving the world...or at least a person or two. But then I had babies. And decided to homeschool. And I live at the baseball field 9 months out of the year. And.And.And. And none of those things are conducive to nursing programs.

But this week I was granted the opportunity to stretch my nursing legs. To see if I had the right stuff.

I don't.

Clearly.

I don't.

This week I have played nurse to the husband. And I discovered very quickly that the scrub-life ain't for me. A very very quick discovery, I might add.

It all started Tuesday morning.

Kirk went to the gym. Like normal. He worked out. Like normal. He was walking. Like normal. And he fell. Like NOT normal.

Turns out Kirk's busted ACL (which he's known about for a year now, and had a surgery to take care of it on the books for March) decided to go ape-wild, and when Kirk hit the floor at the gym, his cartilage went ape-wild with it. After trying to get it "popped" back into place and failing miserably, he called me and said, "Get me to my doctor. Stat."

So off we went. The ortho doc is about a 30 minute drive from us, so we loaded up the entire crew and headed that way, fully expecting the doctor to pop the knee back in place and send him home with a handful of pain pills and a pat on the back.

Ixnay on the going omehay.

Turns out the doctor couldn't get it popped back in either, and he scheduled Kirk for urgent surgery THAT DAY. Whahuh? That was not what I had planned for my day when I woke up that morning.

Long story short...we got the kids squared away, we had A VERY ROUTINE surgery done, and we went home. With a fistful of pain pills and a pat on the back.

And so began my nursing career.

Just so happens that my first AND LAST patient can't just do things normally.

We spent Tuesday night and Wednesday day and night at home on the most powerful pain meds that a person can take by mouth. And it was the most excruciating day and nights that I have ever spent. And I birthed 3 babies...without pain meds.

Yes. It was that bad.

After waking up Thursday morning and being in even more pain, we headed to the Physical Therapy center per dr's orders...because MOST ACL patients start therapy 2 days out.

The husband isn't normal. Remember?

The therapists took about 3 looks at him and said, "This ain't right, Mister. Get thyself to thy doctor." (Although I think I'm just making up the redneck/King James voice in my head...but that's how I remember it.)

So after talking to the doctor's office, we very gingerly made our way back the 30 minute drive to his ortho. Every move and bump and brake of the car caused him to grimace and use his not-pretty words. I seriously had never seen anything like it....

Until...

He got in the doctor's office. When the doc started tinkering around with the husband's knee, I thought all hell was going to break loose. The doctor's face turned a strange shade of green and sheer panic stretched across his face. And (in my memory) in his very best redneck/King James, he said, "This ain't right, Mister. Get thyself to the hospital."

So here we sit. We're going on 24 hours in the hospital on some pretty hardcore pain meds.

And here's what we know: NOTHING.

Seriously. Nothing. The doctor just came in to see him, and, basically, they have no idea what caused Kirk to not respond to the pain medication. They've run tests and done x rays, and everything about this very routine surgery checks out as very very normal.

They just don't know.

And right now, we are just having to be okay with the not knowing part.

We do have a plan though. Kirk is right now being taken off of his drip drugs with the magic button that he gets to push every 6 minutes, and they are moving him over to pain meds by mouth. And then we wait. If he can tolerate it through the night, then we go home. If it goes crazy again, then we stay and rehook to the drip.

It's hard to not know.
To watch this big ole' burly man cry real salty tears because the pain is so ridiculous.
To see him hurt.
It's hard to wait.
And watch.
And sleep on these horribly awful foldout pieces of plywood that they call "Family Beds."

One thing I do know though....

No nursing school for me. I've had enough.

Nope.

I'm sticking with the flight attendant dream.

Peanuts, anyone?

Are you there? It's me, Horton.

2011-01-25T00:07:00.001-06:00

I spent precisely 64 minutes today on the phone with a very nice man named Raj. Raj is from New Delhi but he pretended he was from Milwaukee. I was on to his little game, but I played along because Raj is the grand puppeteer determining whether I get Internet access back in working order at my house or not. So while I wait on Raj to do his thing, I'm stuck banking, blogging, and surfing from my phone. Which is a pain in the tail. So I sucked it up and tried to butter Raj up....

My Internet has been all kinds of wonky for the past several weeks. So I'm unashamedly blaming my blogging nonexistence on that. But...just to keep it real, there have been lots of other things occupying a lot of my minutes....

Like:

1) I've returned to the pit of hell..er...the gym. My jeans that were very loose-ish around Thanksgiving have started to groan when I try to pour myself in them, so I decided it was a sign. But I have definitely decided getting fat is WAY more fun than getting skinny. Yah, carbohydrates. Boo, chicken and brown rice.

2) I went to our homeschool group's Moms' Nite Out tonight. We all just sat at dinner in awe of the different faces. I don't think non-homeschoolers realize how taxing homeschooling can be. It's one thing to be a stay-at-home mom to babies and toddlers (NOT an easy job), but it's a whole other ballgame to have a houseful of prepubescents and adolescents day in and day out. This would be why I'm a proud partaker of Prozac.

3) Baseball has started up for our family. Which means I'm back to driving the taxi service. Tonight the boys went to a pitching clinic that lasted 3.5 hours. Three.and.a.half.hours. On a school night. That's nothing but crazy. But, of course, we'll go back for the next 7 weeks. Because we appreciate torture. (and by the way...yet another reason I'm so thankful we homeschool.)

4) I'm wasting monumental amounts of time planting and harvesting crops on Smurfville. Yes. Smurfs. If you are thinking Farmville, it's not. It's way cooler. Because it's Smurfs. And Smurfs make me happy.

5) I'm watching American Idol even though I said I wouldn't. I didn't think I could handle Steven Tyler and JLo. But I'm thoroughly and utterly smitten. I don't even miss Simon. Gasp.

6) I can finally tell you that the husband has been gone for the past 3 weeks, because I don't like to advertise when I'm bachlorette-ing it. But I can tell you that these 3 weeks have been uber-long. With the snow and the temperatures being so so cold, we've been stuck in the house way too much. Cabin fever is the understatement of the century. Let's just say, it was a good thing that the husband came home, because the boys and I were coming close to losing our religion.

7) I took my Christmas tree down. 25 days AFTER Christmas. Yes, I'm that person.

I could keep the list going, but, frankly, I'm getting carpal tunnel in my thumbs from phone-blogging.

Oh. And it's time to harvest my carrots. :)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Empty

2011-01-17T16:40:00.000-06:00

Y'all, I'm spent.

I'm running on fumes now, and I'm having a hard time finding the time and energy and even the want-to to refill the tank. When it gets like this, it is easier to just retreat and hide. In my bed. On the couch. Anywhere it is dark and quiet. Away from phones ringing. And children talking.

Today I've hid.

And I'm fighting the urge to not hide tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so glad that even in the rough days of weepiness and exhaustion, there are some giggle-worthy moments. Like this pajama clad Super Spy who has taken over my home....

Definitely graduation slide show worthy.....

Swirly

2011-01-16T22:42:00.000-06:00

I'm airing a smidge on the swirly side tonight.

I was slapped in the face tonight with the fact that I'm very very blessed. Yet at the same time punched in the gut with the knowledge that I've been failing.

I have a gorgeous family that other people brag on. I'm still stumped at times when people brag on the behavior of my hellions or compliment their manners, but I'm so incredibly humbled. Yet so extremely proud. All in the same exhale.

I have beautiful friends that love me in spite of myself. My besties have chosen to look past the garbage that floods these flesh and bones and have decided that, for whatever reason, I'm worth their time and energy. And I'm mortified that I've been taking them for granted. Not anymore. I'm resolving to make sure that they know that they are loved and appreciated and needed. Love you, friendies.

I have a church family that is like none I've ever experienced before in my life. I just came tonight from a gathering of believers that was honest and humble and authentic. People laughed and cried and were mellow. And then we loved on eachother. It was the church of Acts. In 2011. And I'm in awe that the Lord saw fit to allow me to be a part of such wholeness.

I attended a meeting today that kicked off a very very busy upcoming season of tournament baseball for Sawyer. To people outside of the baseball world, tournament ball and Little League is like Neptune. A world that is so far from anything understandable in the normal realm, that it is hard to even associate with. I know because I used to be that person. But tournament baseball can easily consume a family. It can consume every inch of time, money, energy, and effort that you allow it to, and it can very easily become an idol. My prayer for this season is that we can maintain healthy balance. It is very tempting for Kirk and me (I'm equally at fault here...) to allow baseball to control and dictate our lives. Balance. Healthy balance. It's a necessity.

I'm still reeling with the fight that our dear sister, Joanne Heim, is punching her way through. Right now things are not looking good. She's taken a turn for the worse, and a miracle is her only hope. (Her husband Toben's updates on her blog are the most accurate information on her status...) It is impossible not to reflect on life as I know it right now and go through "what ifs" and "what would happens." PERSPECTIVE has become the mantra for this week, but I'm also struggling with how to pray. I know all the churchy Sunday School answers about how God's will is perfect, but right now I really just want Him to heal Joanne. It would be so much easier if we could just boss God around....

I was made painfully aware tonight that I haven't been doing enough to further God's Kingdom. I've been pretty complacent about my position in Kingdom work, because it is easy to claim that raising up my boys as Godly men is enough right now. Not that raising my boys to be Godly men isn't important...it is MORE than important. It is my main and primary goal and focus. But, I haven't been making myself available to the unchurched. To the hurting. To the broken. I haven't been being who we were called to be. I've stayed comfortable in my South Arkansas Bible Belt bubble. But it's time to venture out. And bring my boys with me. It's definitely time....

And in other ridiculous swirly news, I'm way behind on my DVR, but I have read 3 books in the past 2 days.

I've also learned to make a fire in my fireplace.

Swirly, indeed.

There's a lot that's been whirling around the ole' gray matter, and though I'm still trying to make sense of it all, I think I've come to a conclusion...

Do less.
Be more.
Focus on Him.

And the rest all falls into place....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hoarder Schmoarder PEZuhroarder

2011-01-15T17:33:00.000-06:00

My dad is a ~~hoarder~~ collector. A self-proclaimed one, I might add.
Kirk's parents are ~~hoarders~~ collectors. Self-proclaimed, as well.

So it's really no wonder that we all come by it honestly.

My sister is a ~~hoarder~~ collector, though she argues it's "not the same" as Jim-Dad's. I'm a ~~hoarder~~ collector. I don't really mind getting rid of stuff, but I despise the process it requires. Organizing closets and going through this and that equals Texas-size headache to me, so I'd just rather not do it...thus ~~hoards of stuff~~ collections occur. Kirk's a ~~hoarder~~ collector. His reasoning is that you never know when you might need something or other. And then there are the children. All ~~hoarders~~ collectors.

But, perhaps the biggest ~~hoarder~~ collector we have in the family is Keaton. The kid has a collection of collections. He keeps papers and paperclips and bottle caps and the teensy syrup bottles from Cracker Barrel that come with his pancakes. He has shells and rocks and leaves and pen caps and spiral notebooks and empty bullet casings and parts and pieces of anything and everything that he deems interesting enough to keep.

As a result, when Keaton decides he's going to start a new collection, my reaction is usually, "Uh-huh, that's cool..." because the kid usually doesn't stick with something long before he's off to the next most interesting thing in the world.

So it was when he decided he was going to start a Pez Dispenser collection.

I smiled and nodded and said, "Uh-huh, that's cool..." and went on about my business. I had no idea what would transpire over the next year.

It all started last February-ish. The Pez Dispenser collection. It started with a couple of Pez Dispensers he picked up at WalMart just because he thought they looked cool, and he had a couple of dollars burning a hole in his pocket.

Then he decided to gOOgle Pez Dispensers.

Which led to his eBay ~~addiction~~ discovery.

Long story short, since last February, Keaton's collection has grown to 195 dispensers (I know, because we count them often *wink*). Some have been bought with piggy bank quarters, some have been worked for, some have been eBay finds, and a lot of them have been gifts.

And so far, he's still loving the collection. And as far as his dad and I are concerned, he's going to KEEP ON loving that collection. Because we know how much has been invested in those crazy plastic candy machines.

Today, Keaton decided to get out his big bin of dispensers and ORGANIZE them, one of his most favorite activities. And since I didn't have anything going, I decided to spend the day with him. I let him tell me all about his favorite ones. About the worth of this one and that one. I watched him dust all of them and carefully place them away in their special boxes and bins with an organizational strategy that only a ten year old could come up with. I even helped him make a spreadsheet that wasn't written in Childese, so that we could start keeping track of what he has and what he doesn't.

It was fun.
But my favorite part was seeing him so excited about these things that he cherishes so dearly.

See the box of candy? Yep..he doesn't eat it. He ~~hoards~~ collects it, too....

Oh, how that boy makes me smile....

All for the love of Pez....

Watermelons

2011-01-13T23:12:00.000-06:00

I heard on the news that 49 of 50 states have snow. Florida is the only one wallflowering at our little white coat party. Even Hawaii is shaking her snow thang.

Poor Florida.

Or not.

Because, frankly, I'd be just fine if Arkansas would rest her legs and sidle up alongside Florida for a year or three.

I consider it no small answer to prayer that the offspring have chosen to neglect the snow for the past two days, because I have had just about had enough of the slush and slop all up in my house. And because of their hiatus, I've taken on a much better attitude regarding Old Jack Frost, mainly because I'm enjoying him from inside my warm house. And because my floor isn't a constant mass of swirling snow puddle juice.

Considering that 49 out of 50 of you have also been slushing through the snow as of late, I'm almost positive that you have almost had your fill of the endless pictures of snowmen, snow forts, and snowball fights taking over everyone's neighborhoods. But, too bad....you clicked over here, therefore, you must endure my barrage of family photos in the snow. That is, unless you just X out of here, of course, which is always a possibility. (Which is why I stealthily named this post "Watermelons" so that you wouldn't just assume right away that I was going to show snow pictures like everyone else in the Lower 48 Minus Florida Plus Hawaii Plus Alaska....Divided By Mongolia and Multiplied by Norway just for kicks.)

Getting on with it.....

SNOW~~MESOTIREDOFYOU~~MEGEDDON 2011

Holy Holding Marshmallow, Batman, that snowball is as big as his head! (As was the cry fest that ensued after he chunked it at his BIG brother's head.)

This was taken just before he unleashed that huge snowball that he's holding in hand...while I'm saying, "No! I have my camera!" And then he did it anyway. Hence the smirky grin.

Back Deck Snow Angels!
(This is just as the snow was starting...we had no idea that fifty-eleven more inches would fall after that...)

I'll take Bundled Up Deliciousness for $1000, Alex.

Couldn't you just eat those freckles with a spoon? Get in line. I'm first.

The husband and the oldest rascal right before they tore up my yard during a mad fit of donut doin's.

Um...yes. That would be them. And this is the only picture I have of it, because I had to excuse myself into the house because I was going to have a panic attack about how fast he was driving that thing with my baby inside.

Look close...you can see the mismatched socks on the hands! I have FINALLY discovered what all the lone socks are for that just live on top of my dryer.

Alright, alright. I'll stop.

I guess all in all the snow wasn't that bad. It was definitely gorgeous and gave us a great excuse to hunker down for a few days and do a whole lot of nothing. But I will tell you that my perspective on snow has totally changed since I'm not teaching outside the home anymore. I use to live for the morning news crawl that would announce a snow day for our school. I would beg the weatherman to tell me that the temperature wasn't going to get high enough to melt the snow and ice off anytime soon.

Not so much anymore.

Because homeschoolers don't get snow days.

Sheesh. Poor kids. Wonder who their teacher is? Someone should have a talk with her.

If You're Going to Skim...Go Straight to My Fourth Point

2011-01-12T16:04:00.001-06:00

I was gracefully reminded by my father today that I had not only fallen off the blog wagon, but was the bearer of wheel tracks right 'cross the face. Hmmm....'tis true.

But, as always, good excuses abound.

Firstly, I've been stuck in a house with 3 people whose ages don't even come close to my own age if added up together. Therefore, the last thing on my mind has been blogging, because I've just been trying to refrain from curling up in the corner and poking hot needles in my eyes. Keep in full mind, that I love the children dearly and profusely, but only being exposed to those 3 same faces for days on end is enough to make anyone start sucking their thumb and calling for their mama.

Snowmeggedon struck SouthWest Arkansas this past weekend, and though some of you Northerners would scoff at our few and mighty inches, it was enough to send us Suthenuhs raiding the bread aisle at Walmart and confining ourselves to our homesteads. We know sweat. We don't know about this snow stuff. (Case in point: After thoroughly soaking through our first pairs of measly thin knit mittens and gloves while playing in the snow, I resorted to coating the boys' hands in socks. Yes, socks. Because we usually don't have a need for those thick thinsulate gloves whilst we're swatting mosquitoes.)

On to my second excuse. We lost our power during Snowmeggedon. Now, granted, it was only out for 8 hours, but, I'm still recovering from the frozeness that overtook my toes during that time. Plus, I had to trek to my van in the snow uphill both ways and barefoot to charge my phone, and that just made me grumpy. And my grumpiness about the whole ordeal has unfortunately persisted....

Thirdly, I don't appreciate the constant bundling/unbundling of snow clothes. Oh, to just have snow suits and snow boots...easy on, easy off. (Listen to me assuming those are easy on/easy off...those ski getups could be like Fort Knox to get in and out of, but for my rambling purposes, I'm going to pretend they go on smooth as butter.) But, since our warmest clothes consist of fleecey pajama bottoms and an assortment of camouflage parts and pieces, it was a little ridiculous all the layering and tucking that had to be done just to send the boys out for a romp in the snow. And then they'd want to come in because the socks on their hands were sopping wet, and they needed a new pair. I was popping Tylenol by the handful after all of that....

Fourth, and most importantly of all, I have been totally and thoroughly sobered by the news of a dear fellow blogger that has suffered majorly at the hands of an imperfect human body this week. Joanne Heim, some know her better as The Simple Wife, had a stroke yesterday. And now she is lying in a hospital bed in very critical condition. Her 9 year old daughter found her at home, and in the blink of an eye, the lives of that entire family have been turned drastically upside down. Everything that they knew was changed in an instant.

Joanne is only 38. Thirty-eight. And everything about the happenings have left me in a strange swirl of emotions. I don't know Joanne personally, but I know people who do. Their pain must be so much more deep than mine, yet I find myself grieving for her and her family. Joanne is a blog friend of mine, and one that always had such uplifting and encouraging words for me the times I exchanged words with her. She loves Jesus with every fiber of her being, and she is such an amazing advocate for marriage, family, and spreading the Word. Joanne's husband, Toben, has been updating her blog here, and you can also follow @tobenheim on Twitter for updates on her progress.

Please pray for Joanne. Please pray for her daughters, Audrey and Emma. Please pray for Toben. And the host of family and friends that are aching for her. I know with all of my heart that Joanne would want this situation to glorify Jesus, and she would plead with the Father for whatever outcome gained that result. I am praying for healing, but I also find myself beseeching the Lord for His good and perfect will to be done.

(I'm not posting pictures today for my Photo Project. Frankly, I don't have the energy to fight my internet service and Blogger to wait on the upload. Perhaps tomorrow......)

'Tis Truly a Puzzle....

2011-01-08T20:36:00.000-06:00

Don't let the eldest offspring's face fool you. He actually was having a fantastic time.

The husband left us for a business trip, and in a momentary lapse in sanity, I grabbed a big ole jigsaw puzzle at the store and decided that it would give the boys and me a fun ~~break from the mind numbing loop of Nickelodeon and Disney Channel shows that I have been being forced to watch~~ time of togetherness.

I was right.

It was a lot of fun.

And there were no tears. Until today, when the boys decided that they were going to break the puzzle that we ~~slaved over~~ worked so harmoniously on last night and build it again today. Since I have the attention span of a barn swallow, I was out of the rebuild, and therefore provided an entrance for World war III to ensue, because apparently I'm the only one in the family that doesn't lose their shorts over turning the pieces over and sorting out the sides and corners.

I actually haven't worked a puzzle in years. Probably the last jigsaw puzzles I worked were during the holidays at my parents' old house in Kentucky when Jim-Dad resorted to puzzling at the kitchen bar to escape the madness of the entire family in their very small living room. My sister, Mich, and I would join him for the very same reasons.

My favorite memories of jigsaw puzzles, however, dive way back deep into the memory bank.

Our family was living in Bangladesh, serving as missionaries, and I couldn't have been older than 6 or 7 years years old. Even though most of the missionaries were stationed throughout the country in towns and villages, our mission had a central location in Dhaka (the capital city). It was a large, several story brick building, that we called "The Guest House." The Guest House was where all the missionaries stayed when they came into Dhaka, and was also a place where friends of the mission or other traveling missionaries from other countries could stay. As I said, most missionaries, like my own family, were stationed out in the country, but there was one missionary family who lived in an apartment at The Guest House who oversaw its running and also handled the business of the mission.

At the time that we were there, Uncle Jim and Aunt Bettye lived in The Guest House. And I loved them so very much. They were quite a bit older than my parents and filled somewhat of a grandparent role for me overseas, even though they did have a daughter that was just a few years older than me. Aunt Bettye was always fun to hang around, but the one I always loved to see was Uncle Jim.

Nine times out of ten that we would show up at The Guest House, Uncle Jim would have a card table set up in their living room with a big huge jigsaw puzzle spread out on it. There was a floor lamp that he'd drag over to the table to give more light, and the cardboard puzzle box would always be perched on the side of the table.

Uncle Jim would be sitting in a chair at the table working away, and there was always an empty chair, too. I never ever saw anyone else sitting in that chair, and I like to think he was saving it for me. Because when I'd bounce my pig-tailed tow-headed self in their front door, Uncle Jim would wave me over with one hand and say, "Sit yourself down here and help me. I can't find this piece..." and he'd point to an empty spot, and so it would go. Every single time. Exact same words. "Sit yourself down here..."

I'd stay down there for what seemed like hours working on those puzzles with Uncle Jim, until Aunt Bettye would shoo me back upstairs to The Guest House for dinner or bedtime.

To this day, I can't work a jigsaw puzzle without thinking of Uncle Jim and his card table.

Such sweet memories.

This is Uncle Jim and I a couple of years ago at our Bangladesh Missionary Reunion. He still looks exactly the same as I remember him back in the day.

This is Aunt Bettye and my sister, Mich, at the same reunion.

It's a PUZZLE the memories that stick out most in our child minds. Pun totally intended. *wink&smile*

Kindle Me Sweetly...

2011-01-06T16:52:00.002-06:00

I don't know whom at Blogger is conspiring against me, but their cute is wearing off. This is the 2nd day that they are pulling the rug out from under my cleverly composed posts, and I'm beginning to not use my pretty words when referencing it. So I've resorted to posting from my phone. Take that, Blogger. You can't stop this girl.

Aside from attempting to work out a compromise with my blog host, I've done hardly anything today. I did get lesson plans accomplished for the next two weeks, which feels really good, but, other than that, I've done this:

Project Photo #6

Yep.

I've been perched in my big ole' chair with my snuggly new Razorback Snuggie (no diamonds for me...the husband knew the way to my heart this Christmas was through a good deal of Hog-emblazoned fleeced yardage!) and have had my nose stuck in OUR new Kindle. (I say "our" because, technically, I bought it for the husband for Christmas. But who are we kidding here? I had definite ulterior motives in play...).

What? You noticed that the page showing says "Prologue"?

Yah, that's because I've already read one book today and that picture was taken when I was just starting another.

I'm telling you....it's been a good day.

- Posted using BlogPress from, Gertrude, my iPhone

How UnSweet It Was...

2011-01-05T20:27:00.000-06:00

Sigh.

If you were habitating under a rock last night, or just could care less about the amazingness of the SEC, then you might not have heard about the tragedy that manifested itself in the form of a teency little thing that we Arkansans were just a smidge worked up about.

Here's the Cliff's Notes: Arkansas totally dropped the ball.

Literally.

And though no one can accuse of us of not bringing an interesting game to the table (and some mighty interesting costuming on the part of our fans...), we gave the game away to Ohio.

We would have given them the ball, too, had we been able to hold onto it.

But enough about football.

Because it is only taking me to my ugly place today.

Sigh.

What's not ugly is all the glorious earth-toned food I consumed last night at our little Sugar Bowl soiree.

I love me some earth-tones.

Cheese. Chips. Potatoes. Fried poultry. Chocolate.

Not a green thing in sight except for the spinach dip that was heavily infused with calories, so it wasn't shunned from the spread.

I might have filled my plate once or four times, but who's counting.

In other, yet somewhat related news, the husband renewed my gym membership yesterday.

And just like that...I'm back to the ugly place.

Sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROJECT PHOTO #5...

.....is malfunctioning today. Blogger won't let me upload my picture, but I pinky promise that I took it!

Hey, Amber.... How 'Bout Some Sugar?

2011-01-04T16:39:00.000-06:00

Hey, Amber, what have you done today?

Well, for starters, I swept my floor. But you can't tell, so don't come over until I sweep again. Then I tried to start a fire in my fireplace, but failed miserably at that. I have taken comfort in the fact, though, that the husband, too, has had trouble getting the fires to start lately, as evidenced by the BLOWTORCH sitting comfortably next to the fireplace. We know how to get things done around here.

So that's it, Amber? Sweeping and fire-making failure?

Actually, no. I worked profoundly hard at cleaning up the Christmas combustion that has taken over my house, but it doesn't look like I've done anything at all. I'm wondering if maybe I should have just taken the morning off and done absolutely nothing anyway, since that is what it looks like.
This afternoon, the boys and I met a couple of besties at the park for a Bike and Scooter Fest. One of the problems with living in the country is an abundance of gravel and an inadequacy of concrete. And our one attempt at the scooter/gravel combo ended in depletion of my band-aide supply. While the boys sweat and pedaled away, Jen and I devoured a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and gossipped....our own favored version of exercise.

Hey, Amber, did you take a picture?

Why, yes, I did. Because I'm still hanging in there with my New Year's goal.

Project Photo #4

Aw, that's cute. And, look! All the boys are wearing Razorback shirts? Fun coincidence, huh?

Oh, no, no coincidence at all, Dear Reader. Our blood runs swine red around these parts, and we have been paying homage to our Almighty Razorbacks all.day.long.

Hey, Amber, what makes today special for the Razorbacks?

Gasp. I'm going to try not and get all kinds of offended up in here, and try to remember that some of y'all aren't from these parts. Pull up a chair, honey, and let me enlighten you..... TODAY IS SUGAR BOWL DAY!!!

Sounds exciting. I guess you're excited, huh?

We're VERY excited. Like VERY excited. Because the Sugar Bowl means good times with football, food, and friends! Three of my favorite things! In fact, we're leaving in a bit for a Woo Pig Sooie good time! The only thing better would be sitting my happy in New Orleans front and center, but since that ain't happening, I'm going to gorge myself on all things dippy and cheesy and melty and sugary.
I also have found my brain is running through an endless loop of Def Leppard"s "Pour Some Sugar On Me" for the past two days, which you are now thanking me for because you know that you are singing it right now.... You're welcome.

Well, have a great time at the party, Amber, and I guess I should say, "Go Hogs!"

Aw. You're sweet. Thanks! And I'm so proud of you for stepping out with the Piggy Love.

WOO PIG SOOIE!

BEAT OHIO!

If You Look Cute, They Will Come....

2011-01-03T21:06:00.000-06:00

PROJECT PHOTO #3.....

Monsieur Dimples and our new friend. Yet another dog that has decided that we look like a bushel of groovy peeps, but will probably run away or "disappear" after sucking our hearts of our love and affection. Because apparently we were short-sheeted our pet*maintanence*gene.
Even still...we've named this one BERNARD.
Now placing bets on how long Bernie will stick around.....

Do I hear a "Gone by morning?" Anyone?

Rockin' the Resolutions

2011-01-02T20:57:00.001-06:00

January 2nd and my ~~resolution~~ goal is already shot. The one about posting a picture every day.

Technically, I kept my goal of taking a picture today, but since I'm just getting home from the longest.day.evuh., I just grabbed the nearest computer I could find to get this post up, and it just so happened to be the husband's. And he doesn't take kindly to me uploading all my girly mess all up in his man space....

So for today...no picture posted. But I DID TAKE ONE!

So use your imagination:

The picture that I took was of the TaterTooter snoozing away in the van. I took the picture while driving around a hugacious curve with my body torqued around everywhichaway trying to capture his image with my iphone camera while he was sitting in the seat d.i.r.e.c.t.l.y. behind me...but he was just so darn cute sleeping, that I couldn't not take it. Insert parental safety speeches here. While you're at it, tell me not to text and drive, because, in the interest of full disclosure, I did that, too....

I was driving home today with the rascals who had docked with the mother ship for the past few days. The husband and I had left them with my parents for a few moments of much needed ~~breathing room~~ grandparent bonding.

A few days sans kids is always such a refreshing break, except for that whole gotta-pick-'em-up thing. Let me clarify...it's not that I didn't want to pick 'em up, because I really do like my children on some occasions. It's that I didn't want to do the mind-numbing drive to go and get 'em.

I would rather eat my shoe than drive.

So today was driving day. And now we are all finally home snug and exhausted and glad to be breathing our own air.

So here's to Home. And Family.
And already breaking New Year's Resolutions on DAY TWO.

Rock on.

2011: Hit Me With Your Best Shot

2011-01-01T18:49:00.000-06:00

New Years.

I've rang in 33 of these bad boys in my lifetime, and although I get the stink eye from folks when I talk about how old I feel, I think being able to say that I really don't know where time has gone constitutes me as being old enough to call myself old. (And before any of you nice people hurl whips and daggers in my direction, no, I'm not saying anything or implying anything about your own age and youth deprivation. Y'all are very young. It's me who's old.)

2010 was a wild ride of a year. I traveled places that I'd never been before. I almost died. I was scared out of my mind, and more excited than I've ever been. I gained 20 pounds, lost it, then gained it back again. I hired a personal trainer, went to boot camp, and then resorted to just sticking out my tongue at the gym as I slurped ice cream cones at the coldstone place across the street...all within 3 months. I watched lots of movies that haunted my thoughts for months on end, and watched lots that I will never remember again. I watched one of my sons come within a baseball bat's length of being part of a State Championship Little League team. And I spent more hours at football fields and baseball fields cheering on all three of my rascals than I did at home. We finished up our first year of homeschooling and started our second, and I'm still floundering in a sea of What-Have-I-Done about it. I witnessed Broadway magic with my bestie when we went and saw WICKED. And I was exposed to true friendship by three of the most amazing women I've ever met in my life (wink.wink.and.another.wink...you know who you are).

And I could go on and on.

But 2010 is over.

Calendars have been flipped to 2011, and clean slates are laid before us. But I don't know if I want a clean slate. 2010 was pretty great....and 2011 has huge shoes to fill.

But I suppose it's up the challenge.

I don't like resolutions for the New Year, because I have commitment issues, and I realize that I'm just setting myself up for failure...

BUT....

I do have a few goals.

I want to draw closer to my Jesus, so that if 2011 happens to thrill my socks off, I know exactly who to praise for it. But even more than that, I want to draw closer to the One who made me, so that if 2011 holds tragedy and heartbreak or just days that stink like socks....I will recognize the One who will carry me through.
I want to spend time building relationships that matter. That have faces. That will go the distance. I want to leave soured laundry in the washing machine and sit with a friend to drink coffee instead. I want to put down my cell phone's texting plan and call someone. I want to turn the tv off and listen to my children talk about nothing and everything all at the same time.
I want to dive into the Word. Not to finish reading it, but to glean life's blood from it.
I want to journal more. Because in my journaling, I find recollection and memories and therapy.

I also have a goal for this World O'Blog of which I breathe its air from time to time. And it's going to help me meet my journaling goal, too. A two birds with one stone kinda deal....

My goal is this:

Take a picture every day. Maybe 2. Or 6. Or 348. But at least one. And cell phone cameras are totally legit. I know this because I made the rules.
Then I'm going to post AT LEAST that picture everyday. Hopefully, my writing mojo will flood back to me in this year of newness, but if not, at least there will be something for me to attach my thoughts and reactions and memories to.
Just one picture.
I can totally rock that.

And if I fall off the wagon....

Well, then my January 1st post of 2012 will tell you about how 2011 was the year that I could not even keep one measly goal of snapping one measly picture a day.

We shall see.
We shall see.

Happy New Year, friends. May God rain down so much pureness in joy onto your 2011.

~~~~~~~~~~

It would only be fair to start this year off right. And wouldn't you know it, I'm going to start it off as a big ole' cheater. Because my picture for today wasn't even taken today. It was actually taken about 4 days ago, but I'm so impressed that we could get all 5 of us gene-sharers to look at the camera at the same time, that it would be simply criminal to not post it....

PROJECT PHOTO #1:

December 29, 2010

One Day....

2010-11-18T11:54:00.000-06:00

I'm almost embarrassed to show my face around here...

Every day that drifts by without logging onto Blogger makes it that much harder to try to attempt the next day. I have no idea why seasons come and go like they do, but I'm definitely in a season right now that has dropped blogging down a few notches on my whittling log of priorities.

It is definitely not because I don't miss the people, relationships, and bonds that I've made through this medium. In fact, that's what I miss the most. I miss "seeing" my blogeeps every day. Seeing their beautiful children, hearing their funny stories, and feeling like I am sitting on the couch having a good little chat with kindred spirits, coffee and giggles in hand. I feel detached from that world right now. Like I'm losing that neighborhood of friends. And I don't like it. Actually, those bonds are the only things that draw me back to my own site over and over....begging myself to check in and regain that luster.

It's also definitely not because I've found another way to record my family's daily history. I most certainly haven't done that. I have many a megabyte of photos that are just hibernating until a time when I'll do something with them...most likely when it's so far in the future that I will have totally forgotten everything that was going on during the moment. My boys are growing every day. They're saying witty and hilarious things. They're just looking cute. And I'm not recording any of it. And I will regret that one day...or 5 seconds from now.

It's also not because I've decided that writing isn't my thing anymore. It's still my thing. And even writing this post about not writing has made me remember that I really do like writing. Writing is therapy for me. And it relieves a lot of tension. Hmmmm......come to think of it, I'm not sure why the husband hasn't begged me to resume my regularly scheduled programming just for sanity's sake (his..not mine).

I honestly have no idea what it is. Just a season, I suppose. Because looking over this post, I can't really find one reason as to why I find it so hard to log on and do what I used to do as naturally as breathing....

One day, I'll get it back.

Because I'm not ready to say goodbye for good.

One day...
One fine bloggy day....

Until then...

Happy Almond Joys for Mama Day!

2010-10-30T17:55:00.001-05:00

I think I was 8 or 9. Maybe 10. Whichever it was, it was the Christmas that I got my Barbi furniture. I remember because I opened my presents prostrate on the couch with my head halfway hanging in a throw-up bucket.

And it stunk.

There possibly is nothing worse than being sick on a holiday. And I'm not talking Columbus Day or Boxing Day. I'm talking the Holy Grails of Holidays. The Big 5. The Fiestas of Fun. The Big Kahunas.

1) Nothing worse than being sick on Christmas. Numero Uno Worse-o.
2) Then comes Halloween. Costumes and candy, man, c'mon.
3) Next is Thanksgiving. Because then your sister gets to eat your slice of Nanny's cherry pie...not that I'm bitter or anything.
4) Then it's Easter. More candy. And a bunch of eggs that your mom won't let you hunt for the sake of the other children's health. Bah.Hum.Bug.
5) Then to make it an even 5....Fourth of July. Because that usually involves swimming and fireworks and hot dogs, and it just stinks to be stuck in the house in the summer.

No matter how you cut the holiday ham, being sick on those certain calendar days just stinks a whole heck of a lot more than a normal sick day. It just does.

Ask this guy....

Mr. I'm Losing My Lunch While My Brothers Trick or Treat.....

Pitiful.

If you read yesterday's post, you know that I was going to give him until 1:00 to stop with the upchuck. Then I was going to let him get duded up and let him stick his bucket out for a couple of Kit Kats then come back home.

1:00 came and went and we were looking like we were going to be suiting up. Golden.

So I dragged out all the costume pieces and the make-up bag, and we got started. Everyone was thrilled that Tate was feeling better, and ~~I was~~ the boys were beginning to salivate at the thought of all the candy.

Tate was totally dressed. Chaps were in place, boots were on, hat was fixed, holster was adjusted, and handle-bar mustache was drawn on. He looked adorable. Until he looked up at me with the biggest most sad eyes and said, "Mama, I just can't do it. I can't twick or tweat." And before I could say, "but the Kit Kats...", he was stripping off the cowboy gear and climbing back on the couch.

And I might have cried. Because I'm pretty sure I've never seen anything so pathetic in all my life. And I didn't even get one picture first....

I wiped my nose on my sleeve and turned my attention to the other brothers Darrel.

And I do have to say, they looked GREAT. I was so bummed that I wasn't going to be hanging with those characters at the festival....

Here's Keaton...a.k.a..Albert Einstein. I think he looks very smarty!

And here's Sawyer....our Redneck that slipped into his character a little too easily. My fave: the chest hair. Crack.Me.Up.

Kirk took the boys to the big festival downtown, and, from what I hear, they were not alone. I think there was an insane turnout for the event which is great for our smalltown, and the boys were loaded down with candy. Score.

The boys with a precious member of our K-Group from church.

Sawyer and his BFF Hesley : Tuh-ruh-ble

I stayed home and snuggled with Tate on the couch...not too shabby of an evening...aside from that whole holding the throw-up bucket thing.

But, probably the best part of the whole night for all of us was when the boys brought home lots and lots of these:

Because when Mama's happy....
Everyone's happy.

Happy Halloween!!

Now....let me at that candy....

Smarts, Tresses, and a Big Case of the Upchucks

2010-10-29T11:56:00.000-05:00

It's Trick or Treat day for us.

The day that I always dread, and then when it comes down to it, I get all kinds of excited because the kids are just so darn cute.

And in the days leading up to, I have especially been dreading this particular Halloween.

And then the boys got their costumes.

And now I'm excited.

Because Keaton is going as this guy.....

He thought of it all on his own, and when he found the wig, he said, "Mom! I can be one of my idols!"
Thrill this mama's heart.

Sawyer is channeling this dude.....

Well, not this guy in particular....he's just the feller on the package of the mullet wig. He's actually more-so channeling our lovely neighbors.... *wink*

Awesome.

Only thing that worries me is that since we bought him his package of wife beaters last night, he has announced that they are his new favorite shirts.

I'm all about getting into character...but really?

And then there's Tate....

Who right at this minute is doing this....

Bless his baby heart, he started throwing up in the middle of the night, and he can't seem to quit.

And he switches between periods of looking absolutely pitiful to periods of looking even more pitiful because he's crying about not getting to trick or treat tonight and wear all of this stuff.....

My sweet Marshal of Dodge City is out of commission. And I'm so so very sad for him.

So...I've come up with a plan....and I'm only telling you all my plan so that you stay clear tonight if you see us....

If he can stop puking by 1:00, I'm taking him tonight to trick or treat. We'll keep our bandanna up over our face and he'll wear his way cool chaps and marshal badge. And then we'll come home.

Because I CANNOT say no to this face...

....when he says, "All I wanted to do was dwess up and be a cowboy fo twick or tweeting."

You got it kid. Stomach virus or no.

***NOTE: I really am one of those moms that is considerate of the health of others around me. I promise if you see us out tonight, we will not breathe on you, touch you, or even look in your direction. Scout's honor.

Randomness....

2010-10-27T12:31:00.001-05:00

Ancient China has been our topic of study this week in school, and my lesson plan suggested that we make our own Chinese food at home. I gave myself quite a bruise when I fell out of my chair laughing at even the mere thought of that ever.happening. So, I did what any other resourceful teacher would do. I loaded the children up and took them to a Chinese Buffet. And we dove into the culture headfirst.... Well, actually, the boys only ate fried shrimp, jello, and ice cream...but still. It was the ~~fact that I didn't have to cook a meal at home~~ the educational experience that matters. I did, however, come out with a fortune that filled me with a bit of anticipation....

All I found when I came home though were 14 loads of laundry that need to be washed.

Some fortune.

~~~~~~~~~~

We journeyed into the wide world of tackle football this fall. Sawyer was so excited to play, and though I had my reservations at first about sending my 8 year old out to be pummeled, I soon realized that at this age, tackle football is more of an exercise in bear-hugging. Not so much with the hard tackles.

Our little team wasn't the best, but they had an amazing set of coaches, and the boys learned a lot about the fundamentals of the game.

Plus...they're just cute.

~~~~~~~~~~

The principal and I have decided to move to a year-round schedule for school. Right now it sounds absolutely fabulous that we have several little 2 week breaks scheduled in to our school year. Love the idea of that. I probably will be rethinking my decision come July and we're still doing fractions.

~~~~~~~~~~

Our town has this fun festival coming up to celebrate a ~~not-so-much~~ friendly rivalry between the two colleges in our town. The football game between the two is this Saturday, so the festival is including some fun activities for the kids who are supposed to come all dressed up in their Halloween costumes. Um...our costumes are still MIA. And it's Wednesday. And the festival thing is Friday. Just call me the Queen of Preparation.

~~~~~~~~~~

I've been debating about posting this picture, but I've just decided that I can't not. It's just too good to keep to myself. Brace yourself...this might just be the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.....

Yep.

It's totally for real.

My favorite is the slide coming off of the back deck. Totally resourceful.

And since this picture was taken, the good people who inhabit this funland have added an upholstered couch and chair to their roof.

Yes. I said roof.

I.Love.My.Neighbors.

Here's a Story.....

2010-10-25T21:17:00.000-05:00

Faith journeys are hard.

I do love the ones that are relatively neat and tidy. Maybe a red ribbon tied around it just for kicks. Yah..those are the good ones.

But I don't like the hard ones. The ones that are so difficult of a road to even step out on, and the process is painful and achy and just all-around a miserable experience. And those are just the ones that have an ending that my pea-sized brain can fathom. I really don't like the ones that are just hard and painful, and that leave me wallowing in a puddle of confusion.

Don't get me wrong. I love the sovereignty of our Maker. It's actually one of the things I love most about Him (if we're even allowed to "pick favorites"). I love that His plan is bigger than me and bigger than my circle of friends and bigger than my flesh and bones can comprehend. I really do. I love it.

But it drives me just a little bit crazy.
Okay...a lot crazy.

Because I'm a visual kinda gal. I gotta see it to believe it. Or to stick with it. Or to keep on keepin' on.

And God doesn't usually do things my way. Okay...God rarely does things my way.... Which usually means that I end up on the backside of crazy more days than I'm not.

And backside of crazy is where I sit today.

Because I'm walking a road right now that didn't come with GPS. And to make things even more interesting, God heaped on blinders, eye patches, ear muffs, and made me leave my seeing-eye-dog at the house. I'm blind. Totally walking blind....

And I'm ready to just quit.

To Cliff's Notes an intensely long story, I'll just tell you that for a very long time now (exactly 6 years...but who's counting?) I've felt like my family wasn't complete. I felt like someone was missing out of our picture. That there was room for somebody else. But, the husband was adamant that we were closed for business, and we took measures to close up shop....if you catch my G-rated drift. And I had to agree with him...somewhat. My cup was running over. My blessings were abounding. But yet....unsettling in my spirit remained.

Someone was missing.

I sat on my thoughts and masked them behind endless hours at ballfields, homeschooling, and just the upkeep of my sanity. My cup is running over. Three is enough.

Someone was missing.

Then the Lord decided to step in and do His thing. He used a dear precious friend of mine to shake me into reality and show me the answer for my missing someone.

It wasn't that we were to have another biological child. It wasn't even that we were to adopt.

The someone missing was actually a lot of someones.....

After falling on my face before my Jesus in sweet relief, I began the process. I studied everything I could get my hands on, talked to everyone that knew anything about the matter, and made endless phone calls to begin the process of...

FOSTER PARENTING.

Yes. This was the stirring in my soul. I knew with everything in me that I was being called to not only fill my home with that missing someone, but I was being asked by Jesus to take care of His precious children. I knew that our family could provide love and security and attention to a sweet child that didn't know it could exist. I knew that we could be Jesus' hands and feet. And I was elated.

Sure, I knew it would be hard. I would have to figure out how to homeschool and deal with a new baby or toddler. I would have to juggle 4 kids now...not just the 3 that were already causing me to prematurely gray. And, I would have to be able to handle the horrid task of letting them go when the time was up. But, I knew that I could do it. I would have the strength of the Lord behind me, and He would provide the resources that I would need, and the salve for my broken heart.

Another answer to prayer was that the husband and the kids were all for it. Everyone seemed excited to walk this journey of reaching outside of ourselves to help those in need.

And then it happened.

The rug was ripped totally and completely out from under me. I landed hard on my back, and I'm still trying to find a way to hoist myself up.

Kirk and I can't be foster parents. That's right. I said "can't."

Because we live in a 3 bedroom home and there isn't adequate square footage in one of the bedrooms to meet state regulations.

Square footage.

We aren't going to get the chance to love on these kids because of square footage.

Square footage.

I keep saying it over and over to myself because it seems so bizarre to me. Square footage.

So our process has been totally halted. Our paperwork has been shoved to the bottom pile on a desk somewhere. And we aren't becoming foster parents.

And I just want to scream.

I know that God is sovereign. I know that His picture is infinitely massive, and that mine is ridiculously minute. I get all of that. But it doesn't take away the confusion and frustration that has come.

Because I feel totally safe and secure in my relationship with Jesus, I've told Him just how frustrated I am. I've told Him that it's not fair. I've told Him that I would have rather He had never laid fostering on my heart. I've told Him that I'd rather go back to feeling the way I was feeling just a few weeks ago....like someone was missing...but that I didn't know who/how/why. I've told Him that ignorance, in this case, would have been bliss.

Is He preparing our family for the future?
Was He testing our willingness to be obedient?
Is He laying groundwork for something that is just over the horizon?

I.Have.No.Idea.

But I'm tired. And I'm hurt. And I'm confused.
And now I find myself grieving for all of those precious babies that I'm supposed to be rocking and loving on.

I love the Sovereignty of God. My God that will not be bound by regulations or contained by checklists or...

squashed by square footage.

Pigs Must Be Flyin' and Fat Ladies Must Be Singin'

2010-10-25T08:25:00.000-05:00

Go on. Pick your jaw up off of the floor. I'll wait.....

I know I haven't posted in a long set of Tuesdays, but it hasn't been for lack of trying. I've opened the lid of my laptop and logged on to Blogger so many times in the past month or so, but just end up shutting the lid. Not really for lack of things to say, really. But more for lack of the heart to say them.

This has been a period of time that has sent me soaring one second and then left me reeling the next. Roller coasters are way-over-used analogies, but I can't think of anything better to describe the journey that my emotions have taken over these last few days and weeks. It's a bizarre feeling to climb up steep faith ladders the are full of anticipation and joy only to roughly have the rug ripped out from under you. But more on that another day.......

For today....a catch'em'up.

-- Having 3 boys is nutso. Having 3 boys that all play sports is nutso magnified to the 38297492th degree. For the past what-seems-like-a-million days, we have been at one ball field or another Seven.Days.A.Week. We thought we were really giving ourselves a break and exhibiting excellent parenting skills by making the boys choose TWO sports each for the fall season. Um...not so much. All 3 boys chose baseball, 2 chose soccer, and 1 chose football. And between all of those, we've had practices or games every.single.day.of.the.week. No Sabbath for the sports mongers. Needless to say...my cheerleading uniform is tired and ready for winter hibernation.

-- School is going really well. Aside from 5th grade math kicking my tail, we've really experienced rather calm seas for smooth sailing. The boys are all really happy, and though I'm still working out the kinks in our daily schedule (yes, I realize it's October), I've seen true fruits of our labor. And I still have all of my hair....

-- Every Monday and Wednesday afternoon, I sacrifice my ritual naptime to take Tate to Speech Therapy. He's getting his Fudd fixed, and though it makes me extremely weepy to see it go, I've realized that him saying, "Will you mehwy me?" one day to some gorgeous girl will.not.be.cute.in.any.way. So, Fudd-fixin' it is.

-- I've become absolutely obsessed with Razorback football this season. I've become one of those girls that discusses plays and stats with the man-child, and I actually cried real tears when I had to watch on tv the game against the Aggies in the new Cowboys Stadium. Because I should have been there. I just should.have.been.there. But I didn't have an extra spleen to sell for the price of tickets.

-- Along with my new Woo Pig Sooie! infatuation, I'm now one of those people that tweets and updates their Facebook statuses with nothing but football related verbage on gameday. I know...annoying as all get out. You're welcome.

-- I've started that Couch to 5K program, and I'm convinced that it was spawned in the bowels of Hades. But, my friends want to run a 5K, and I'm one that is prone to peer pressure....so I'm Couching my way to Raceday. But it hurts. And I'm tired. And I'm only on Day 4. Lord, help me.

-- I cleaned out my closet the other day. Seven bags to charity and one bag of trash later, my closet is refreshed and organized. Although I'm still wondering how in the world someone can have one full garbage bag of TRASH in their closet??? I guess I thought, though, that hanging on to the paint-stained Aaron Tippen concert teeshirt from 1992 would come in handy one day. You never know when the dress code might call for that kind of thing..... Ridiculous.

-- I'm thrilled that my tv has returned to Regular Scheduled Programming. Loving that my shows are all fresh and new each week, and that my DVR is fat and happy. My numero uno favorito (insert shuddering Spanish speakers here) show, gLee, is confusing me a bit with all the raunch and over-thinky-politically-correct episodes, but I'm hanging in there. Because I love Mr. Schue. And I love any show that promotes busting out in song and dance in public.

-- Halloween is this weekend, and I'm trying very hard to keep a smile on my face about it. Halloween is my least favorite holiday, and it would suit me just fine to nix and null it altogether. I wish that I had some huge conviction against the holiday, because then I could use that as a reason to fore-go the whole dress-up/candy-gorging binge. But I don't honestly see anything wrong with my kids dressing up as pirates and cowboys and getting a Snickers bar from their pediatrician. So now I'm in the dilemma of having waited till the last minute for costumes and having to fake my way through the whole Smile-Be-Happy-My-Kids-Are-Drunk-On-Sugar weekend. Halloween = Blech for me.

I'm sure there's more to discuss.
But it's time to pry myself from my chair and start the day. There are dishes to wash, and laundry to sort, and little people to teach, and 5Ks to run....

Bwahahahaha....I almost got through that last part without spitting my coffee all over my computer screen.

Have a blessed day. 5Ks and all.

There's Manna in Numbers

2010-10-02T21:36:00.001-05:00

EIGHT -- the number on the clock that the little hand points to when I'm sitting at the soccer field on a Saturday morning. On a Saturday morning. Wait...did you hear me? On a Saturday morning. Whoever had that brainchild must be one of those weird morning people, and they probably do other stuff before the roosters like eat dinner...or...laundry.

ONE -- the number of tattoos that my cherub-faced stinker installed on himself while I wasn't looking. Our family is all about some ink, but choosing to mimic thugists...not so much. And I'll show you the picture...as long as you promise not to say, "Aw...he's so cute." Because, y'all...he put the stinkin' thing on his neck. The thing that holds his head on. Which he obviously wasn't using when he inked himself.

SEVEN -- the number of nights that I've slept with the windows open. Keep in mind that 3 of those nights were with the husband 239,382,392,823 miles away....and the beauty of sleeping chilled to the bone in the crisp fall air beat out the fear of the BoogieMan. That's some amazing fall air, I tell ya.

EIGHT -- the number of months that it took our walls to get all dinged up from one too many hallway soccer games and swashbuckling pirate attacks. We remodeled in February. Today, I spent the afternoon repainting what we just painted.

NEVER -- the time in which the husband and I will finally be able to have nice things (and walls that don't get dinged up). Dadgum boys.

SEVENTY-THREE -- the number of minutes that the offspring member of the red headed persuasion stared at his language book the other day. He had to write four sentences about what he did this summer. That's it. Four. And you would have thought that I asked him to translate the Gilgamesh epic into Latin. On minute seventy-four, he caved. Score = Mom: 1, Kid: goose egg.

FORTY-ONE -- the number of Pez Dispensers in the oldest rascal's collection. He wants to make sure that I clarify that the forty-one does include one giant talking Yoda Pez Dispenser and a box set of 8 Star Trek members, which leaves 32 individual Pez Dispensers. You think I'm kidding. I'm so not kidding. I'm also not kidding about the Excel spreadsheet that is worked up on these said 41 Pez Dispensers. Because we're wild and crazy like that....

SIXTEEN -- the number of days that I've eaten nothing but junk. With the husband in and out of the country and baseball/football/soccer seven nights/afternoon a week, I've been ingesting mad amounts of fast food and frozen-food aisle edibles. My innards screamed out for vegetables the other day, and I managed to wolf down a can of cold mixed veggies before heading out to the ballfield. Go ahead...judge. I'm sixteen steps ahead of you.

TWENTY-FOUR -- the number of Words With Friends games that I have going on right now. Because I have an infinitesimal amount of spare time on my hands. What? I'm not playing with you? My user name is RascalRaiserAmb. C'mon..you know you want to feed my Scrabbalized habit.

ONE -- the number of precious husbands that I have. It looks strange to me that I just wrote the word "husbands"...plural. Speaking of plural...have you seen that new TLC show, "Sister Wives"?? Bizarro. I'll keep my one man all to my self, thank you very kindly.

ENDLESS -- the amount of blessings that I feel and have felt from the onslaught of prayers, support, and love showered on us by our friends and family. We've had some issues that have sneaked their way into the crevices of our lives and have pitched tents in some very uncertain deserts and valleys. We've dealt with confusion, misunderstanding, and the unknown. And yet, we remain remarkably at peace. Because prayer is manna in the desert. Support is manna. A "just checking on ya" email is manna. A facebooked "how ya doing?" is manna.

And manna is FOREVER, friends.

Seasons

2010-09-28T10:16:00.000-05:00

Seasons are funny.

Some seasons come in gently. Easing their way in. Changing things gradually.

Other seasons waltz in and slap you square in the jaw. Leaving no mercy in their wake.

I prefer gradual. Because I'm not a big change kinda gal. I prefer to look around one day and say, "Whoa...something's different here, but I have no earthly idea what it is." That's much better than the alternative of waking up one day and your entire world has flipped itself. Yes...Gradual is much better. And easier on the nerves.

Fall has finally shown its face here in South Arkansas, and I'm loving the open-window, fleecy pajama kinda weather. I even slept with 3 quilts on my bed last night and didn't sweat one time....it was magical.

But this post isn't really about the newfound crispness in the air.

A new season has sneaked in and rearranged all the furniture in my mind. Facets of my life have been uprooted and tossed around like nothing I've ever seen before, and other pieces have remained untouched in this bizarre twist of seasonal irony. Some parts are better. Some are devastated. Some are still whirling around. And I'm stuck somewhere in the middle trying to make sense of it all.

Priorities are shifting. Conversations are being had that I never thought would have to be. Time spent on things that used to be so important are now fleeting thoughts. Interests have moved. Definitions of words like "quality" and "contentment" are rewriting themselves.

And I'm still reeling with the shift in equilibrium.

But I suppose that's what seasons are all about. Some seasons are for deadening, so that new growth can spring forth. Some seasons are for blooming and flowering and conquering the bleakness. Some seasons are for transition. And others are for preparation.

But whatever the season......

"We take the good days from God—why not also the bad days?" -- Job 2:10 (the Message)

I just prefer more good days than bad....

Doozey

2010-09-16T12:55:00.000-05:00

This has been a doozey of a week on my brain and even more so...my heart....

The entrance of fall usually holds such hope for me. It's a time that smiles can hardly be wiped from my face. It means football has started, my closet is transitioning, and the air is a little easier to breathe.

But this entrance of fall hasn't been so pleasant. And this week in particular is doing a number on my soul.

For starters, the husband has been gone all week. My only communication with him has been by email, one failed Skype attempt, and a briefer than brief phone call yesterday. And I'm growing weary. The boys and I have just about reached our limit of restraint with eachother, and we are about 5 minutes past time for a referee to run interference. Without the other member of our family that is old enough to command a vehicle, it has left me doing all ball-related duties myself. And I'm tired. Since Sunday, we've had 2 ball games and 6 practices. And all on different fields. At different times. And my baseball/football mom cute is wearing off fast.

I don't sleep well when the husband isn't home. I hear every creak and moan that the house gives off, and I sleep with one eye open and sitting halfway up in bed. Last night I swore I smelled smoke, which led me on a sniff parade for 45 minutes. The bags and circles under my eyes are causing people to spread rumors...

I'm feeling some unsettling in my spirit that I can't quite put my finger on. I've spent time in prayer and study this week, and still haven't received a clear answer. I have no idea what the Lord is trying to tell me, and, frankly, it's frustrating. But I'm trying to remember that His timing is not my timing. I just wish He'd throw me a bone this week.

My heart is aching for a precious friend. Her world was just turned upside-down this week, and there isn't anything under the sun that I can do to make it better. I'm a fixer. And I can't fix this. And it sucks.

On top of all of those big things....

I've fed my kids nothing but frozen pizza, Hot Pockets, and fish sticks for this entire week. And I haven't felt bad about it...not even once....until now. And now I'm crying about it....

I ruined an entire load of clothes by accidentally forgetting that I had added bleach to the water. And last I checked, my men aren't keen on pink splotchy pieces of apparel.

The raccoons have sneaked their way into my trash bins....again. And they never clean up after themselves.

I'm harboring bitter feelings about not getting to stay cozied up in my mama's house this week while the husband is off perusing the German countrysides. But because of our hefty sports schedule, it just wasn't possible. But I sure do wish I was there right now....

My favorite pair of flip flops broke.

And I could go on and on....

But really, I just am ready for my heart to settle. And I'm sad because I don't really remember what that feels like....so I wonder if I would even recognize it if and when it happens....

Family Matters

2010-09-11T21:01:00.000-05:00

I spent the better part of the day at a family reunion.

I understand that I'm supposed to be focusing on the wonderfulness of multi-layered generations intertwining into a mangled mush of togetherness, but, really, these kinds of events leave me a little perplexed.

This particular reunion was for the "Edwards" clan. Or "Edderds" as we've strangely enough nick-named ourselves. (I haven't quite figured out why we feel the need to scrawl the word "Hillbilly" in bright black sharpie on our foreheads with such a naming, but, for reasons far beyond my realm of understanding, it's just the way things are.) The Edwards family branches me from Jim-Dad's mom's side of the family. My Nanny. Sweet adorable cute-as-pie Nola Mae Edderds.

My Nanny adored family reunions. She was one of 5 brothers and sisters that were a closer set of siblings than I have ever witnessed in my life. Each of the 5 had a smattering of kids and so on....so the Edderdses have grown to a somewhat scary multiplication of numbers. (I'm just glad I'm in the family...because I'm pretty sure that they will take over the world one day...and all you non-Edwards will be out.of.luck.)

Because Nanny loved family reunions so much is why I think that I'm left with mixed feelings about such an event. As the designated mother-figure of the entire clan, my Nanny loved nothing more than gathering her huge nest of chicks together. She knew every.single.detail. about every.single.member. of our extended family....I know...because she told me every.single.detail. about every.single.member. of our extended family. She just loved the fellowship and the togetherness of it all.

And I haven't been to a family reunion since she went home to dance with Jesus.

And it makes me kind of sad.

Because, honestly, I don't really want to be at one without her.

Oh...I understand the importance of continuing on our legacy and that our generation has a great responsibility to handle such amazing tradition of a family that truly exemplified the meaning of the word.

But it just stinks.

Because Nanny is not there for me to sidle up to and ask who someone is. She's not there to fill me in on the latest ~~gossip~~ information regarding my 3rd cousin twice-removed's second wife's brother. I don't get to hear her call all 5,398 Edwardses by name...first, middle, and last. And I don't get to see the sheer joy that would envelope her face just at the mention of getting to see her family.

So....was the family reunion fun? No. Not really. But not because the people aren't fun. And not because the food wasn't amazing. And not because the weather wasn't absolutely perfect for the day.

No...it wasn't really fun today because Nanny wasn't there.

Here's my Nanny and I in 2004. That's a 2 year old carrot-topped Sawyer holding her hand. We were at a funeral when this picture was taken. It didn't matter to Nanny though. Funeral or not...it still meant her family was together.

Here's two of my most favorite ladies. My mama and my Nanny. Aren't they gorgeous?

Seriously...my new favorite picture of my Nanny. That's her on the left in the blue shirt. She's with her brother, Herb, and her sister, Ethel. Gosh, how she loved them. What they have on their heads, I have no idea...but I think they are cute as can be.

Sure wish they all could have been there today.......

Whirly Wednesday

2010-09-08T18:08:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling rather whirly birdish today....

I walked into Sawyer and Tate's bedroom 14 times today in a span of 6 minutes. And each time I had no idea what I was doing in there. And I make it a point to go in there as little as possible. It stinks like boy and smells even worse. Whirly Birdish.
I brushed my teeth twice this morning. I'm sure that my dentist is thrilled with my display of extraordinary dental hygiene, but it was really because I forgot that I had already done it. Just 5 minutes earlier. Whirly Birdish.
I had the boys copy their spelling lists this morning. From last week. The fact that they didn't notice either worries me just a bit. Everyone is Whirly Birdish.
I announced at 8:15 this morning that we were out of milk and asked someone to remind me to get some at the store. At 8:16, I poured everyone a bowl of cereal and then was dumbfounded when I couldn't find any milk in the fridge. Whirly Birdish.
I made coffee this morning. Without adding the coffee. Whirly Birdish. (And in need of an intervention.)
I made an eye appointment for Keaton today, but as soon as I got off the phone, I realized that I hadn't written the date down nor did I have the foggiest idea of when I set the appointment for. I then had to call the lady back and ask her to remind me. She asked me that time if I had written it down. Yes, Ma'am, but no promises that I got it right. Whirly Birdish.
While washing clothes, I chunked a cap of liquid detergent in the dryer and a dryer sheet in the washer. I'm sure the load needed to be rewashed. Because it probably was a bit soured anyway. Whirly Birdish.
I watched an entire episode of iCarly today. By myself. And I found myself giggling at the jokes. Whirly Birdish. (And a possible intervention necessity.)

I make a motion that we adjourn this Wednesday.

Can I get a second? Perhaps an Amen?

So moved.
This Wednesday is adjourned.

Betcha Didn't Know: The OBU Edition

2010-09-06T12:29:00.001-05:00

My college alma mater turns 124 years young today. And in its honor, my fellow blogging Ouachitonians and I are dedicating our posts to its birthday celebration. Like the icing on a collegiate cake.

I think everyone wants to say that their college home was/is like family. That their college experience was something spectacular. That it was the birthplace of lifelong relationships and friendships. And I'm sure that that is true to some degree. But I'm pretty sure that nothing compares to the Ouachita experience. And I'm pretty sure all my fellow Tigers would agree with me. Because we know that we have something that the rest of you don't. And for today....and maybe a little longer!...we're going to allow all of you to be envious of our story.

BETCHA DIDN'T KNOW......

* That Ouachita is not pronounced Ouch-uh-taw. Nor is it pronounced Oooo-uh-chee-tuh. Nor Watch-i-taw. Nor O-aw-chi-taw. It's Wash-i-taw. Say it with me....WASH.I.TAW. And we Wash-i-ton-ians take it very seriously. And have been known to hold linguistics lessons wherever we deem appropriate or necessary.

* That I can still remember the smell of 3rd Floor McClellan. The education floor was my home for 3 years, and I would be able to recognize that distinct mix of floor cleaner, hot laminator, and crayons anywhere.anytime.anyhow.

* That I studied for many a test on a "bridge."

* That after pulling an all-nighter on the bridge before a final one December, I went back to my room to quickly change clothes before my 8:00 test. That I must have laid down for just a second to "gather my thoughts." That the next thing I know, my phone was ringing, and it was my professor calling to wake me up and tell me that I was 45 minutes late for his final and that I needed to get across campus pronto. That only at Ouachita would a professor care enough to do that.

* That my hallmates and I "borrowed" a neighborhood dog from its front yard just to see if we could sneak it past Mom Taylor in Flippen Perrin. We succeeded. And I don't think that dog will ever be the same.

* That I never pledged a Social Club, but felt as though I was honorary member of every club on campus. I definitely did enough pledge duties for my friends to have deserved a spot.

* That I've never written so many Top Ten Lists in my life....thanks to aforementioned pledge duties.

* That my favorite professor of all time was Dr. Lavell Cole. That man could make American History come alive by just letting his voice meet its pages. I still remember the way he would walk into the room, prop himself on the edge of his desk, and just start talking. Never a note, book, or visual aide in tow. He is definitely missed.

* That I took Art in Humanities in May Term. And that that was the stupidest decision of my college career. Because it is near impossible to memorize 67 million artists and paintings in two weeks. *shudder*

* That I changed my major at least a dozen times. But still managed to graduate in 4 years. Don't ask me how I swung that small feat of That.Never.Happens.

* That I ate waffles for almost every meal. Because no matter how legendary, Walt's was gross.

* That I can still hear Minnie saying, "Hey, honey!" to every student that walked through the lines of the cafeteria.

* That I still have a problem walking on the grass on OBU's campus, because Dr. Ben Elrod's "Save-the-Grass" speeches are forever ingrained in my brain.

* That it stunk the year that my Chapel seat was on the very.front.row. of Jones. Because it is hard to skip Chapel when you are on the very.front.row.

* That is was awesome when my Chapel seat was on the very.last.row. of Jones. Because it is easy to skip Chapel when you are on the very.last.row.

* That those last two statements make it sound like I liked to skip Chapel. It wasn't that....it was just that I liked to sleep. A lot.

* That I almost failed Racquetball. Because I liked to sleep. A lot. And it was a VERY long way to walk to the gym.

* That I left my mark on OBU's campus courtesy of the Gum Tree. Nasty or not...it was necessary.

* That I know all the words to "O-U-A-C-H-I-T-A," and sing it to myself everytime I drive past the campus. (Which is a lot...since I...uh...live here.)

* That I will never forget the preciousness of my time at OBU. Like most events in life, it was definitely taken for granted at the time. But, as I reflect back, I certainly know that I was part of something special. Something huge. A piece of community and fellowship that stretches far beyond the borders of a ravine and a river. I'm part of a family that gets to call itself OBU Alumni...a brotherhood of sorts. Like we need our own secret handshake or something. Because when you find another OBU-er, it's like you just...know.

So, Happy Birthday, Ouachita!
You are loved.
And remembered well.

Go Tigers.

If you are interested in reading the other OBU stories go here. And if have your own OBU story, join us and link up!

In Which I Call You "Abby".....

2010-09-02T23:59:00.000-05:00

Dear Abby,

I write today to implore you for help. Maybe not so much help, but some possible creative solutions. I'm reaching my wits' end, and, frankly, the ingenious corners of my mind are closed for business.

You see, I am struggling.

Because I've just come to the determination that parenting is hard, and I really don't like it much right now. It's all unicorns and rainbows when the precious sounds of my offspring giggling resonate through the house, but it pretty much just plain sucks when it comes time to deal with all this complicated mess.

Here's a little background: I'm the mom of 3 fine and delightful male specimens. All precious in their own right, but so incredibly different. My oldest is creative and uberly-smart and sensitive and is drawn to all things nerdy and geek-related. My youngest has the face of a Gerber baby and could melt Mt. Everest with one bat of his eye and one spoken word. And my middlest is our athlete and holds semi-rockstar status for reasons that I still haven't quite grasped.

Sounds like a fantastic melting pot of personality and talents, no?

Oh, for sure. It has been.

Until now.

Because now we're entering the phases of childhood where the blinders come off, and jealousy and sensitivity rear their nasty heads. And to be honest with you, I have no earthly idea what I'm doing trying to manage it.

The oldest of our male species is especially having a hard time right now. He's 10 and super-intuitive, and it isn't rocket science for him to figure out that his little brothers are rockin' the casbah right now. Sports are a big deal in our home, and all the boys are actively involved in several organized teams, but the oldest one just can't seem to find his own way away from his rockstar brother and his way-too-cute-for-his-own-good brother. People can be so cruel without meaning to be, by continuously doting on one brother all while hanging the other brother out to dry. And it's hard as a parent to not be able to assure one of your children that is being hurt by it that it will get better.

Here's the deal, Abby. I know what the right thing to do is. It's to let him find his own way. Find his own niche. Eliminate as much competition as possible between the brothers, even though we're not purposefully breeding it at home. I know that the right thing to do is to dote on his accomplishments and achievements and to treat each of our children as individuals, never comparing them or asking them to compete against eachother for any reason.

But, realistically, we live in a small town. The opportunities aren't endless. We live in a town where everyone knows eachother, and reputations are what seem to carry a person, however wrong that might seem to be. Finding one's way is hard to do anyway here, let alone trying to claw one's way out of another's shadow.

So, my question is this: Any advice or creative ideas in helping a youngster find his own way away, but respectfully so, from his little brother?

I'm not looking for a sermon, because I preach to myself enough daily, but something tangible that really could help jumpstart some self-esteem in an already hormonal prepubescent.

Much thanks.

Signed,
About To Flush My Parenting Card Down the Toilet

An Excuse As To My Blog Absence. Not a Good One. But Still An Excuse.

2010-08-30T11:47:00.000-05:00

My laptop's power cord has died. Again.

Which means I'm chained to Keaton's desktop. And chaining myself to anything makes me a little nervousy...so I've refrained from anything computer related that I can't do on my phone.

But I decided to remedy the problem in the middle of the night. At 3:04 a.m. to be exact.
Sleep was evading me, so I decided that the best use of my time was to peruse the pages of the power cord kingdoms. I ordered one from a place that sounded like it was being run out of someone's mother's 3rd cousin twice-removed uncle's basement, but I'm hoping for the best.

I've never been one to turn my back on adventure.

Unless it has to do with chains.

Shudder.

In Which I Feel Not A Bit Like Myself

2010-08-25T18:16:00.001-05:00

I don't even know myself anymore.

I have not slept past 8:00 all week. One day, I was even up by 6:00.
I have fed my children perfectly balanced, well-portioned lunches for the past 3 days.
I have been actively involved in the breakfast process this week. As opposed to just hollering from my bed to open up a box of Lucky Charms.
I have called Rascal Academy to order promptly each morning, and we have not wrapped up our day until absolutely everything is checked off in the lesson plan book.
The absolutely everything lasted until 2:30 today....and yet, I ~~hanged..hung..hunged..tough~~ didn't stop. Even though I was already 1.5 hours past due for my nap.
The dishwasher, washing machine, and dryer are providing a whirr of background noise as we do our lessons. (Read: I actually am keeping my house semi-clean.)

We started school this week. And so far, I have no idea who the person is that is inhabiting my skin. I won't say that I did a terrible job of schooling the children last year, but I certainly wasn't this on top of things. We did start a brand new curriculum that I'm absolutely in love with, so I'm dead-set on doing it right and slurping up all the corners of its loveliness. BUT...still....

All of this is so out of character for me.

But, I suppose, there is always next week to resume slacker-related habits, should the change be too much of a shock for my system.

A Post In Which I Fill Your Mind With Useless Rambling...

2010-08-18T08:55:00.000-05:00

1) Everyone around here goes back to school tomorrow. I had a post half-composed on my feelings on the matter, but I deleted it. Because, basically, here's my feelings: Nah.Nah.Nah.Boo.Boo. But, I'm not usually one to gloat.

2) Speaking of school, our new books are trickling in box by box. The UPS man is my new BFF. Good thing we live in the country and have no close neighbors, or I'm afraid folks would start talkin'.

3) I have a new arch-nemesis. It's an app on my phone called "Angry Birds." If you have an iPhone or iTouch....tread carefully. It's highly ~~irritating and will make you want to pull your hair out strand by strand and then set your face on fire~~ addictive. Dern birds.

4) My summer tv schedule is starting to wear on my nerves. I'm ready for my regular-scheduled-programming of gLee and Grey's Anatomy and...well...gLee. But, thank Florida, I still have my delightfully intriguing train wreck of Big Brother to keep me company in the time being. Oh...and then there's Wipeout....which just makes me giggle like a 12 year old pubescent boy.

5) Did I mention that Ye Olde School of Rascal does NOT start school tomorrow?!

6) I think all of my manic eBaying of late has worn off negatively on the offspring. Yesterday, I found Keaton in his room, perusing the auction pages of PEZ DISPENSERS. And somehow, after he talked fancy to me, I helped him place a bid for a package of mint-condition StarTrek Pez dispensers. Because everyone needs 20 year old candy with a dispenser shaped like Dr. Spock.

7) The menfolk went and floated the river the other day with some of their other man friends (and a few girly daughters), and apparently had a fantastic time. My children came home from the outing and declared themselves River Rats. To which I made a proclamation that as much as I found that amazing, they would be doing all River Rat activities with their father. Because this girl doesn't do river. (And I especially don't do river since they yanked a dead person out of said river just yesterday. Um...no thank you.)

8) School doesn't start for us tomorrow!!! But I'm beginning to think it's time to start thinking about starting...because I'm not sure my mind can handle one.more.episode. of SpongeBob. Mind.Numbing.

9) I made the most devine mess of Twice Baked Mashed Potatoes the other day. And I can't really remember how I made them. There is beauty in not using a recipe...until you want to make them again.

10) Guess what? We don't start school tomorrow!! But I'll think about everyone who is up tying the laces of new tennis shoes at dark'o'clock'thirty in the morning while I'm still snoozing in my bed dreaming about not starting school tomorrow! You're welcome.

Wanna...Gonna

2010-08-15T00:03:00.000-05:00

It's hot. And I wanna complain about the way my makeup melts off my face and about how the 2 squirts of hairspray that I allow myself a day drips and mixes with the hanging water in the air. That then drips down in my eyes and causes my contacts to get all wonky. Which then leads me to have to take my contacts out and wear my glasses which make me claustrophobic, especially in temperatures hot enough to bake a turkey. And so we've come full circle. But I'm not going to complain. Instead I'm gonna tell you that I'm thrilled that it is still flip flop weather. And that my pedicure still looks good from 2 weeks ago.
     ~~~~~
It's the middle of August. And I wanna complain about it being time for school to start. Because I'm not ready. It means forking over lots of cash for curriculum and waking up early and actually having to put forth some effort during the day other than changing the channel on the television or lathering a little person up with sunscreen at the pool. And it means that my babies are a year older. And that I'm going to have to teach 5th grade math this year. But I'm not going to complain. Instead I'm gonna tell you that I'm excited about the new school year. Because it means new sharpened pencils. And $.25 crayons. And the sound of fresh spines on textbooks being cracked open for the first time.
     ~~~~~
I have a slight new-found obsession with eBay. I wanna complain for awhile about the folks that outbid me on an item that I need by a measly $1, which makes me then raise my max bid by a $1, just so I can be outbid again by a $1, and so on and so forth. Because I have a minor impulse control problem. And an I-Don't-Like-To-Lose problem. But I'm not going to dwell on that. Instead I'm gonna tell you that I'm actually very proud of myself. I've managed to find some amazing deals on some of our more pricey pieces of curriculum for the year and have managed to save us quite a few dead presidents. Even if it did make me want to yell bad words at those other homeschooling hussies on the other side of the computer screen who keep outbidding me.
     ~~~~~
I'm finding myself still dealing with some pent-up frustration with a situation that I should have been able to let go several months ago. I wanna vent for a long while about how I don't much feel like forgiving. And how I don't feel like being mature. And how all I really want to do is throw a huge tantrum and get my way. But instead I'm gonna tell you that I have amazing friends. Friends who are honest. And who are authentic. And who are the salve on a very nasty wound.
     ~~~~~
The husband has been working himself like a dog lately. I really wanna complain about his work hours. And how he's never home. Or how when he is home he's preoccupied with work stuff or just dead cow tired. But instead I'm gonna tell you how proud I am of him. He's so good at his job that people rely entirely too heavily on him and his knowledge that he is kept hopping. Which is pretty cool...because the alternative could be that he sucked at his job and wasn't needed.  I think I'll take "busy" for $200, Alex.
     ~~~~~
We live in a college town.  Actually, it's a 2 college town. And right now, I really wanna complain about the soon-to-be monsoon of students that will awaken our lazy town from its quiet summer slumber. Restaurants will be full again. I'll have to wait in line to get gas. And Walmart will be flooded with buggies full of Ramen noodles, ironing boards, and mini dorm refrigerators pushed by perky too-tanned students carrying wallets full of daddies' credit cards. But instead I'm gonna tell you that I love our town. And I really love it in the fall when the students return. Because it means the blood is pumping through the veins of our community again. Routine returns to schedules that can't help but revolve around college calendars. Our church quintuples in bodies. Local business owners sleep a little easier at night. And, maybe most importantly, it means its almost football weather!!
     ~~~~~
It's been over a month since I've stepped foot near a baseball field. I wanna tell you how blastedly glad I am for it. That I'm so sick of the washing of uniforms and running like maniacs to accommodate bizarre practice and game schedules. That if I don't step foot near a baseball field for another 6 months, I'd be perfectly content. But I can't. Instead I'm gonna tell you that I've missed it like crazy. And that I'm insanely giddy that the boys have their first practice tomorrow to start up the fall tournament season. That once again my laundry room is going to be covered in a layer of red infield clay carried in on baseball pants, and that my car is going to smell like stanky, sweaty cleats. I'm thrilled about the soon-to-be littering of baseball bags in my kitchen floor and about pouring half my grocery budget into gatorades and sunflower seeds. Ahh..tomorrow, tomorrow. I love ya, tomorrow.
     ~~~~~
It's midnight. And I've resorted to watching an infomercial about an exercise device that promises me in large print that I can lose 15 dress sizes in 6 weeks, yet assures me in small print that it's never going to happen. I really wanna turn the tv off and go to sleep. But instead I'm gonna stay up and practice my before and after poses in the mirror. You know...for when I don't lose the weight that they promise me that I will just after I lose the weight that they promise me I won't.

Chew on that for awhile....
That's all.....

Love a Good Facelift

2010-08-13T07:47:00.000-05:00

Are you reading this is in a reader?

Get out of it now. Go to my real bloggy place. Go on...I'll wait....................

There.

Are you here now? If so, then you are beholding a piece of bloggaliscious eye candy that was delivered by the hands of the most fabulous bloggy designer evuh.

Did I mention that she was fabulous?

Ms. Jackie from Memories by Design hooked me up once again. Fabulous. Did I mention that?

We had that family picture up there in my header taken by the also-fabulous Kelly from Kelly's Photography last Christmas, and though orange and blue aren't your most conventional picture colors, I loved this set of photos so much!

The only problem is that orange and blue don't exactly go with everything...especially not the bright yellows, reds, and blues of my last blog design. Never fear...Jackie's here! So she did her thing and made sense of all that crazy computer code and....

Ta-Dah!!

I also love it, because it makes me think FALL! And after the summer from the underworld with the blazing >100* temperatures, I'm ready for a little fall inspiration!

Fabulous!

Now I'm just repeating myself...

100 Years Fabulous....

2010-08-09T20:25:00.001-05:00

100 years is a long time. A really long time.

Airplanes have flown. Men have walked on the moon. People live in Cyberspace.

So much has changed with our world in 100 years. And I can't imagine watching our world go from none of that to all of that in my lifetime.

100 years. A century.

And my Aunt Fay has seen the whole thing.

This weekend a host of family and friends came together to celebrate the woman that has outlived, out-seen, and outlasted all of the rest of us in the family.

100 years. I keep saying it over and over because I still can't hardly believe it.

My Aunt Fay is my grandfather's sister on my mother's side. She never had children of her own, but she was a second mother and grandmother to so many of us. I can remember spending long summer days at her farm house ~~getting in her way~~ helping her garden and can and cook. She always wore an apron. And she had this crazy ceramic wiener dog that sat in front of her cabinet television. She loved to give us fun gifts at Christmas like toothpaste and denture cream (no joke), and you couldn't go see her at her house or her room at the nursing home without her sending you home with something or other.

100 years.

Wow.

She informed everyone at her party this weekend that she "wasn't having a party." She was "just visitin'." Because she "didn't want a fuss." Yes, Ma'am, Aunt Fay. Yes, Ma'am.

But we partied anyway.

Isn't she the most precious thing you've ever seen?

Here's Aunt Fay with her Great Nieces and Nephews (minus a few)

Here's Aunt Fay with her Great Great Nieces and Nephews (minus a few)

plus a man in a yellow hat that none of us know, but somehow found his way in our pictures.

Happy Birthday, Aunt Fay!

August 12, 1910 -

A Moment of Silence, Please....

2010-08-06T08:56:00.000-05:00

Rosie

May 10, 2009 - August 3, 2010

May she rest in peace.

......After the obligatory moment of silence.....

I am proud to introduce my newest companion. Meet....

Gertrude

(or "Gert" if you're the husband)

August 3, 2010 - hopefully forever....

May she live long and prosper....

(And not to speak ill of the dead, but may she also not screw up my apps half as much as Rosie did.)

Turning Ten....

2010-08-04T13:56:00.002-05:00

One of my most favorite people turned 10 yesterday.

10. Oy. That just makes my mama's heart ache all over. Sounds so cliche but it really does seem just like yesterday when the husband and I were stumbling through the waters of new parenthood together. Crazy how time flies.

Enough of the Hallmark sentiment....

Let's get on with the agenda for the day:

1) Revenue Office. It is possible that I have been driving around for a month with expired car tags, but if you ask me about it I will deny it. I will tell you that the only reason that I stopped in the Revenue Office yesterday morning was to visit with the ever-so-friendly ladies that work in there.

2) Collected a gaggle of peeps to come with us. Praise Florida, I had reinforcements. I am forever indebted to Jen for taking on that crazy crew with me. Oy.

3) Chic-Fil-A. Where I was "My pleasure"-ed twice. Love it.

4) Tour of Various Parking Lots and Parking Garages in the Downtown Little Rock Area. Where we realized that the real entertainment for the children was in a parking garage. Why did I even plan anything else for the day?

5) Museum of Discovery. For the love of our now 10 year old science nerd.

Inside Alice and Wonderland's hall of doors.

I'm sure they're learning something smarty here. Just looked like a fancy version of air hockey to me.

Again...I'm sure it's smarty and that they learned some great piece of physics. Just looked like a carnival game to me.

Keaton did trap Ms. Jennifer in the dentist chair though. That's always good clean fun.

After exhausting every exhibit of its funness, we raided the gift shop. And we walked away with ~~the most expensive crap~~ some fabulous souvenirs.

6) 4Square. Where I consumed the most delicious fragment of milkshake heaven I've ever indulged in. Where I also forgot to take pictures, because I was experiencing Mint Chocolate Chip nirvana.

7) Back to the Parking Garage. Squeal.

8) Shopping. For the maintenance of sanity for the adults trapped in the moving vehicle with the little people. At least that was the plan. Turns out that the shopping with the little people was the source of my still-hanging-on-Alaskan-sized headache.

9) The depositing of the gaggle of gigglers back to their respective homeplaces.

10) Home. Phew.

11) Birthday Dinner. Keaton had requested rabbit, deer meat, and mashed potatoes for his special supper, and his father gladly obliged. Me? I just ate the taters. I don't do Bugs Bunny or Bambi. At least we had homemade ice cream for dessert. Now that I can handle.

Um...yum?

12) Keaton's big present is coming on a slow-boat from China. Literally. We ordered his new iPod Touch a couple of days ago, and it is taking it's precious time to make it's way over the Pacific Ocean. We felt bad that he didn't have anything to open on his birthday, so the husband hooked him up with this...

Keaton was so excited that it was being released on his birthday, so he was beyond ecstatic when he opened up last night. I love little surprises like that!

13) A family viewing of Diary of a Wimpy Kid. It was a cute movie. What was cuter was listening to Keaton giggle throughout the whole thing.

14) Bed. Falling into -- to be more specific.

Despite my headache and the keeping up with the masses, it was a really fun day. It was great to celebrate a really great kid and give him the things that make him smile.

Last night as I was tucking Keaton into bed, he hugged me and said, "Mom, this was my best birthday ever. Thanks a bunch."

Swoon.

Makes every second worth it.

Happy Birthday, Keaton!!!

Keaton and I on BIRTHday. August 3, 2000.

6 weeks old

2010

My, how time flies.

Good.

2010-08-02T17:58:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was probably one of the most relaxing and fun weekends that our family has had in a long while.

We didn't do anything spectacular.....maybe that's what made it so great. In fact, we didn't do anything spectacular at all. It was just good.

Friday night, the husband went out with his man-friends to shoot fish. (Yes...shoot fish. And, yes...it's legal. And, no...I don't know any more than that.) Don't get me wrong...I love the husband. But I also love falling asleep in my bed with total control of the remote control. And it's different than when he's gone on trips...because I can fall asleep easy knowing that he'll stroll in at some point in the middle of the night. Downside is that he strolls in smelling of fish guts...but I don't guess you can win 'em all.

On Saturday morning, I let the little country gas station, that is just down the road from our house, cook breakfast for me. They make the most fabulous breakfast sandwiches complete with from-scratch biscuits and the most ginormous slabs of bacon and sausage. YUM. What makes it even better is that while you're waiting for the precious lady to whip up your biscuit, you can listen to all the cute little old men gossip about the town's 'bidness over coffee. This is why I love being an American.

We spent most of Saturday day working in the yard even though it was hotter than Hades. We mowed and sweat and dragged limbs and sweat and cleaned up around the house and sweat and sweat and sweat. And then we washed our cars and played in the water just so we wouldn't die of heat stroke. Arkansas summers ain't for sissies, folks.

After a heat-induced coma that afternoon, we headed out to dinner and a movie for Keaton's birthday. We watched Despicable Me. Have you seen it? It's so good. I laughed. And I cried. And I laughed some more. But not nearly as much as the over-zealous woman in red Hawaiian print pants who was seated behind me. She ~~was l.o.u.d.~~ found the movie delightfully engaging.

Kirk and I kept the bed babies Sunday morning at church. One of my most favorite jobs ever. And it makes my heart get all melty when I see the husband schmoozing over a little teeny bambino. And it makes my uterus hurt for more babies. And when I pointed out that fact to the husband that morning, he all but threw the little tike at me and run for cover. Wuss.

After church we went and ate at one of my most favorite places evuh with a few of my most people evuh.
There is nothing like good friends, good conversation, and fried food dipped in gravy. Swoon.

After lunch we went and picked up our cow. Yes...our cow. You think I'm kidding. You all know about my grocery bill and my inability to keep any remnants of food in the house, so our solution was to buy a cow. We ordered our cow last fall sometime and split him with these fine specimens of besties. I guess our cow, whom we have taken to calling "George", has been living it up on the farm for the past few months getting all kinds of fattened up. And now he is happily (for us, not him) residing in our freezer. Want to know what half a cow looks like?

That's a lot of meat, folks. That's a lot of meat. And as excited as I am about a freezer full of George...it also means that I have to start cooking again. Double-edged sword.

We ended our Sunday with a hearty nap and then began the highlight of my summer:

SHARK WEEK!!

It just keeps getting better........

The Divine Miss Em

2010-07-31T08:00:00.002-05:00

By now, most of you know that I grew up overseas. As a Missionary's Kid, I was given an opportunity that I often took (and take) for granted, but definitely realize that the entire experience airs on the side of super-fortunate.

When I think back over my time as an MK, my memories wouldn't be complete without one particular person. If I think about Bangladesh...she's there.

Meet Emily.

This picture of me and Em was taken just last week in Branson, where she was vacaying and I was chillaxin' with the 'rents. And I was thrilled beyond Texas to see her and her mama, Aunt Patt (all missionary kids refer to the other missionaries as "aunt" and "uncle." It's just how we roll.)

Before I get too far away from this picture...do you see how tall she is? Jiminy Cricket. Um...I'm also standing on my tippy-toes. And she's just as gorgeous as ever.

Anyway...Em and I were raised together. Both of our families arrived in Bangladesh at the same time and both waded through the knee-deep waters of culture shock together. Emily and I were the same age, and we instantly bonded. Em's parents were my parents' BFFs, and they went to Language School together, as well as muddling through the first months of ministry together. We lived in a duplex with Emily's family, so the togetherness was end.less. Emily's younger brother, Nathan, always wanted to be like us, and my big sister, Michele, couldn't stand us. We were family. Plain and simple. Family.

Here's some early pictures that Jim-Dad dug up of me and The Divine Miss Em....

That's me on the left in the stunning red ensemble. Em's in the middle, and that's her little brother, Nathan, on the right. It looks like, in this particular picture, we were hangin' in a village somewhere. I do recognize the man standing right behind me. That's Matthias, who was our cook there...so I'm thinking we must have been in his village.

That's me and Emily getting off of our school bus and heading for the house. We went to the American School for our first year in the country (we were later home-schooled), and every morning and afternoon, our aiyahs would walk us to and from the bus-stop. The pretty lady in red with me was my aiyah, Cecilia. The unfortunate looking guy escorting Emily was Cecilia's good-for-nothing husband Shamir. If you want to get Jim-Dad stirred up, just get him started on Shamir. Whoa.Nelly.

Aren't we precious. Ahem. This picture was taken at one of our Mission Meetings, and our moms thought it would be all kinds of swell to dress us up alike. That's me with the fabulous red shoes on the left. Emily's on the right. And the girl in the middle is Jamie, another Missionary Kid. Our mothers should be hung out to dry. What.Were.They.Thinking.

Back to last week. It was so great to sit and visit with Emily and Aunt Patt. Emily had also brought a friend of hers with them, and Nathan's soon-to-be-fiance was with them, too. Cannot believe that little Nate is old enough to be gettin' hitched.

A lot of time has gone by.
But some relationships last forever.
You can't quit family.

From Toes to Tampons. You're Welcome.

2010-07-29T21:17:00.000-05:00

I had my toes done today.

It's one of those small indulgences that has turned into a flat-out necessity. About three pedicures ago I switched Preddy Bootie Nayol Schalons. After my last experience with the still-in-utero-fetus working on my feet, I was definitely ready for a change. And it was just my luck that a new nail place opened up in town. And get this....they speak English. Whahuh? And they love Jesus. Double whahuh? And the lady rubbed my feet for 20 minutes straight today. Triple whahuh and a scoop of Hallelujah on top.

Heaven, I tell you. Heaven. My good buddy, Perpetual Preschool, has decided that pedicures should be covered by health insurance under some mental health clause. And I totally agree. I would gladly plop my $20 copay down for that kind of therapy. You betcha.

I also went and had hairapy today. I took a picture of my new self right after I walked out of the beauty shop, but I look like I'm 103 years old in it, so I altered it bit.

Um...yah. Nothing like crow's feet on a smiley face. Growl. But the hair is cute and swingy. Silver lining.

Although most folks wouldn't consider the dentist office as part of a day of blissful therapy, I on the other hand do. Well, if it is dentist day for the offspring, that is. Because that means I have an hour to myself in a quiet waiting room where I have nothing to do but just sit. And contemplate which organs I'm going to sell to pay for the orthodontia services that I was informed today now needed to be paid for. For not one of my children, mind you, but two. Anyone need a good kidney? Lung, perhaps?

Before heading home, I drowned my orthodontic information sorrows in a well-rounded pizza buffet. Because pizza therapy should also be covered under the mental health clause. Not only does it make me happy, but it makes me so dingity-dang sleepy that I went home and took a 3 hour nap....which I hear is excellent for the mind, body, and soul. Amen.

And Walmart. I almost forgot Walmart. Because you can't come to town and NOT stop at Walmart. That would be heresy on all accounts of all things good-and-Arkansan.

Today's trip to the Mart-of-all-Wals had me buying the all-out-necessities.

Two cartons of popsicles that turn our poop fun colors, four boxes of cereal that will be gone in 3.4 seconds, and fruit snacks. These, people, are the things that make our world keep from heaving itself headfirst off its axis.

And before I forget to discuss it...is anyone else bored out of their gourds with the Great Value sterile white nursing home floor lookin' packaging? Everything looks the same.

And I, for one, don't appreciate getting my tampons mixed up with my cheese crackers.

That's all.

The Little Things I've Learned This Week....

2010-07-28T18:31:00.000-05:00

It's only Wednesday, and this week has already been a Wide World of Well-Learnedness. And I'm not talking big huge life-lessons here. I'm talking the little things. The miniature. The petite. The scanty pocket-sized unpretentious tidbits that make our worlds go 'round.

**** I've learned that the folks who make those yummy freezer pops which are a summer staple have been marketing their product all wrong. I'm currently composing a letter to the various manufacturers informing them of their need to include little boys (ranging in age from 10 to 6 primarily) sucking down the frozen pouches of splendor in mass just to make a latter trip to the restroom more entertaining for themselves and their male siblings. I've lost count of the times I've been hollered at from the bowels (pun totally intended...ahem...I'll be here all week, folks!) of the bathroom this week. "Hey, Mom, those popsicles turn my poop weird colors! Come see! It's awesome!" So, take that, Mr. Popsicle Marketing Man. Take that.

**** I've learned that a KingSize Cookies and Cream Hershey bar and a Diet Pepsi make a delightful lunch. I won't go into details about how I learned this fact, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

**** I've learned that even though George Clooney is pretty to look at, you are totally unable to get the two hours back of the time that you spend on watching one of his early movies. The husband landed the television plane on a gem of theatrical mastery last night. Something about vampires in a strip club in Mexico. It was as pathetic as that description. And it made me have weird dreams. Which constitutes felony in my book...because I don't need help with my dream-life. It's weird enough without any additional help.

**** Speaking of dreams, I've learned that somewhere along the way I must have sub-consciously wanted to be a gymnast. Because during my nap this afternoon, I dreamt that I was a professional gymnast. Complete with slicked back hair pulled up in a scrunchy and clippies that matched my spangly leotard. I don't really remember anything about the skills...but I know I looked awesome! Probably a good thing I didn't have daughters. I'd be trying to vicariously live my leotard dreams through her. Bless her heart.

**** I've learned that I'm beginning to get into the groove of getting ready for school to start. Understand that I'm not ready for school. I'm just ready to start thinking about school. There's a total difference, but still progress where I come from.

**** I've learned that a box of cereal will be devoured in less than a day in my house. The offspring have taken to eating it not only for breakfast, but as a morning snack. And as a lunch dessert. And as an afternoon snack. And as a before dinner snack. And as a before bed snack. So I did the math....if I spend $2.50 on a box of cereal (generic, thankie very much), then that comes up to $17.50 a week. Which is $70 a month. And $910 a year. On cereal. Did you hear me? On cereal. And I didn't even figure in the milk.... We need to buy a cow.

**** I've learned that I need to go back to the gym. Because my clothes aren't fitting right and stuff is starting to jiggle again. But I don't like to sweat. Here lies my dilemma....

**** I've learned that good friends are just that....good friends. And that I wouldn't trade 'em. Not for all the predictable relationships in the world.

What have you learned this week?

The Mother Ship and Punnett Squares....

2010-07-23T22:14:00.001-05:00

I'm currently inhabiting the Mother Ship.

It's always good to make the great voyage to my Home Planet. Firstly, because I love to see my Parental Units. And secondly, because it means that I don't have to cook for as many meals as I spend suppin' at the Table'O'Rents.

I've been breathing the same air as my Begetters for the better part of 12 hours now, and I've made some very observant observations.

1. That my mother is an excellent housekeeper. I left my white gloves in my other purse, but I've been studying the surfaces and faces of this fine crash pad, and I can't find a speck of dust anywhere. I've also noticed that the beds are always made here. And the laundry and dishes are always caught up. I decided that maybe it was just because we're not at home anymore, and surely Jim-Dad can't make too big of a mess for her to have to clean up after. But then I remembered that the house was always clean when I lived at home, too. And she worked a full-time job. And now I realize that I inherited narry a squosh of her cleanliness genes.

2. That I will from now on blame my messy house and piles of laundry begging to be folded on the unfortunate outcome of a Punnett Square. Can't fight genetics....

3. That my affection for an afternoon nap is also the result of many years of fruit fly analysis. As long as I can remember, my mom has settled herself down for an afternoon siesta. No ifs, ands, or buts. Just napping. So my retirement to my bed every afternoon isn't laziness....it's genetics. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And to think that I didn't believe them when they said that suffering through Mr. I'm-A-Bore Berry's Biology class in highschool would all pay off one day.

4. That while we're on the topic of genetics, this would be a safe time to huddle around the fact that I was not blessed with my mother's Green Thumbedness. Well, I guess that's not entirely true. Perhaps my own Green Thumb is just suppressed under miles and miles of my own unwillingness to hang out watering flowers for an hour in the hot and sticky Arkansas humidity. I kid you not...it was an hour that my mama stood out there with that water hose tonight. AN HOUR? ON FLOWERS? That's a whole episode of Grey's Anatomy. Um...not gonna happen. Even for the love of a tiger lily.

5. That Shirley Temple movies are just as black and white here as they are my house. But they are much more entertaining and easy to watch. Could be because Jim-Dad and Grammy watch them of their own freewill and don't huff, puff, and blow the tv set down. I'm beginning to notice that the Husband's idea of vintage viewing entertainment is watching an episode of Manswers from last November, and that the only Shirley Temple he knows of is the one propping up a mini paper umbrella.

6. That I'm going to sleep well tonight knowing that my mama and daddy are in the next room....

Whoever said you can't go home again was crazy.....
As was Mr. Boring Biology Berry.

Being FAP-ed

2010-07-22T20:23:00.001-05:00

Being FAP-ed stinks.

And lately we've been getting FAP-ed more and more often. I blame Facebook and its siren call that speaks to my offspring like cheesecake speaks to me. You see, my wee babes don't log onto FB to network socially...oh no....they log on to play those blasted games. Farmville. Frontierville. Treasure Islandville. Pet Societyville. And every other -ville possibly alive.

The -villes are the source of the FAP-edness.

Growl.

If you are unfamiliar with the world'o'FAP, let me just tell you that it is some hokey mess that my satellite Internet provider came up with to make my life miserable. Apparently we're only allowed a certain amount of bandwidth yada yada per 34.6 seconds or something or other. And if we exceed our allowance, then the FAP Patrol waltzes in and retires your computers to slower than dial-up speed. And it takes me to my very ugly place. And dern Farmville FAPs us faster than all get out. (***I've had some people commenting that they have never heard of the mysterious FAP. Go here. Be enlightened.***)

Last night and today, we succumbed to the FAP gods, which disappointed me highly since today was my day that I had designated as my entirely free day. All my chores were caught up around the house, and we had absolutely nowhere to be. 'Twould have been a fantastic day to catch up on all of my webby responsibilities, but, Behold: The Almighty FAP.

Double Growl.

So I did what anyone else would do when the FAP appears. I got a little crafty. And I napped. And I read. And I went through all 9,563 pictures stuck in my computer and organized every.single.one.of.them. Go on....yawn with me. Because the pictures wore me out. But, I'm so glad that I got that job done. My picture folders were beyond the clean-up stage....they needed an all-out overhaulin'.

While I was digging around and deleting and moving folders here and there, I rediscovered some of my most favorite pictures EVER. Some I remembered...but others I had forgotten about....

Like this 'lil beauty:

Nothing like a toga party.....

Or this one of me and Tate. Gosh...I love his angel face. Looking at this picture is enough to make me do the ugly cry.

Or what about Keaton dressed up as Gandalf the White (Lord of the Rings)? It makes me snicker and snort all over myself:

This one is of Kirk and me up in Rocky Mountain National Park. One of my most favorite pictures of us evuh. And that trip to Colorado a couple of years ago was one of my most favorite trips I've ever taken. Good sweet memories....

Aw...and this one makes me misty because I love my momma and daddy and big sister....

And I love this one of Keaton and me because he's actually smiling in the picture, and the.kid.NEVER.smiles in pictures....

I could keep this up forever....but if I keep uploading pictures, I'm just going to FAP us again. And you already know my feelings on that whole scenario....

Although if I can dig back through pictures and snort-giggle and ugly cry a little bit...the FAPage may just be worth it.

I said MAY.

Random Smatterings: An Update

2010-07-20T23:21:00.000-05:00

You may want to read this post first. Or not. Whichever way you want your kite to fly.

On the topic of my 15 year highschool reunion:

I'm still musing over the way that Facebook has utterly and definitively changed the entire dynamic of the mysterious reunion phenomena. I didn't feel nearly as apprehensive about going and showing my crows' feet to a group of people that hadn't seen me since waving my fresh 18 year old face goodbye several years ago, seeing as they've seen my pictures and profile stuff floating around the net for some time now. My crows' feet are old news in cyberspace. What has kept me snickering since Saturday, though, are the people who have been sticking pictures on Facebook that are.most.definitely.not.them. You can't post a picture 2 Thursdays ago of a buxom bombshell wearing a teensy two-piece on a beach in Key West and then show up to your reunion sporting love-handles and skin the color of baby powder. You just can't. We're smarter than that. Really. We are.

On the topic of the nasty infestation of deadness around the house:

For those of you who wondered.....I think the carcass was dog related. Not that I got close enough to perform a complete inspection. But, regardless of its used-to-be, I do think that our dog, Lucky, was the culprit. Not of the homicide. But of the carting it up to the house and plopping it front and center in my yard. I'm going to pretend that he was trying to gift me with treasure. I'm also going to pretend that I don't gag every time I think about it.

On the topic of not wanting to start school yet because I just don't want to:

I've decided that I might just be getting in the spirit of back-to-school time. And all thanks to this:

Nothing thrills my heart more than brand new school supplies. And on sale? Be.Still.My.Heart.

On the topic of Solo cups:

We've now graduated to a package of 1000 plastic straws. $1.99. You betcha.

On the topic of procrastination as it relates to retail establishments:

I sucked it up today and went to Walmart. But only because we were out of Diet Dr. Pepper, and that registers entirely too close to a breach in Homeland Security around these parts.

And with that.......

Random Smatterings

2010-07-19T14:11:00.002-05:00

1. I went to my 15 year highschool class reunion this weekend. No matter what anyone says, nothing can quite prepare you for a reunion. Seeing the ex-boyfriends and their wives. Seeing the old best friends. Seeing the old enemies. Seeing the people that you genuinely liked. And seeing the people that you genuinely didn't. Seeing people and pretending that you are thrilled beyond belief to be again breathing the same air with them, yet having no recollection at.all. as to who they are.

It's a bizarre thing, a reunion. Some people have changed...a lot. There was lots of weight gain. And lots of weight loss. Lots of...um...surgical enhancements. And lots of new tattoos and hair colors. And then there are some people who haven't changed a day since high school. Those are the ones I like....because I actually knew who they were!

I also feel very sorry for spouses at these kinds of things. How horribly terrible to be dragged along to a place where everyone is remembering stuff that happened 15 years ago, and you are struggling to just read a scrawled out sticky name-tag of someone that your wife or husband apparently has missed so much, but yet you've never even heard them mention before. Ever. The husband and I are super fortunate in this department. We graduated from the same highschool and in the same class, so we were spared the awkwardness of the spousal issue. Except we know too much of eachother's history with most of the people in the room...which is a whole other bowl of awkward.

All in all...it was a great time. It's always fun to dip back into history for a little bit. To reminisce and recollect and remember.

We got back home last night, and I just realized that as great as my history is...I'm desperately in love with my present. So good to be home.

2. In other news, we have an infestation problem. Of the dead variety. We pretty much fell into the bed late last night when we arrived home from the festivities, so it wasn't until this morning that I made the discoveries.

This was in my kitchen window.

And this was in my front yard.

Gag. Nasty. Gross.

I'm assuming Tweety sneaked in through the fireplace while we were gone and decided to commit suicide by way of ramming his head into the glass of the window.

And the carcass? That's just gross. And I'm not asking questions.

3. I looked at a calendar the other day and realized that summer is almost over. And that I haven't done the foggiest thing to prepare for the upcoming school year. I've been hearing of how my fellow homeschool moms are ordering this and that, and preparing thus and so, and even setting start dates for their broods. I don't have any excuses other than I just don't want to think about it yet. And I'm thinking that it is still going to be awhile before I seriously think about it again. Because I'm just not ready.

4. I'm not sure why we invest money in video game systems and other pricey entertainment devices for the children. The boys have happened upon the wonder of a $2.99 package of plastic Solo cups. I've been handling this buying toys thing all wrong. Never underestimate the power of paper products.

Oh..and please pardon the undies-only. The boys aren't known for wearing an abundance of clothing around the house.

5. I am on a mission this week to see how long I can postpone a much needed trip to the grocery store. The fact that the husband is out of deodorant, and that I just fed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch may indicate that I need to go sooner than later. But still....I've never backed down from a challenge.

And with that....
That's all.

Felines and Felons

2010-07-15T13:51:00.002-05:00

I never knew that I was allergic to cats. It could be that I've never really been around cats, because they freak me out. I don't like the sneaky look in their eyes and how they are so...uh...quiet. They just are creepy. In fact, the only cat I have ever loved is Indiana Jones, our current cat, and I only love him because he acts more like a dog. And Indiana doesn't make me sneeze.

But....now, apparently, I've developed a feline allergy. And I discovered it this morning when I was volunteering at the Humane Society. What? You volunteered? Don't get too excited. My choice would have been to volunteer to drop my kids off at the Humane Society and let them play with the animals while I voluntarily went to WalMart sans little people. But since I chose to have my children just 10 years ago instead of 15...I had to stay with them. Dadgum age restrictions.

Keaton has been bugging me for a week to take him to "volunteer." He really isn't a philanthropist at heart, and, in fact, was highly disappointed when he found out that no money was involved with volunteerism, but he decided that hanging out with a bunch of animals for a day sounded intriguing.

After putting him off for 4 days straight, I threw on some old nasty clothes this morning and trooped my troop up to the animal cages.

I don't know how the Humane Society is set up where you live, but ours can only be described by the word "interesting." And you can interpret that however you see fit. Ahem.

We were ushered into a room with lots of little rooms full of cats. Cats. Cats. Cats. And more cats. Just when I thought I had inventoried all of the sneaky suckers, more would appear. And just FYI...it doesn't matter how many episodes of Animal Planet's Cats 101 you are forced to sit through....you still will never be prepared enough for that.many.cats.

After a bit, a teenage kid decided to so generously befriend us. It only took me 3.4 seconds to realize that he was there volunteering his time, as well. But his community service was that of the more mandatory nature, if you catch my drift. My head was spinning with the stress of being trapped in a small contained room with twelvity hundred felines and an adolescent felon.

And I'm pretty sure that both species can smell fear.

I sneaked a peek at my phone to check the time and decided that surely 8 minutes was plenty of volunteer time to put in for one day. No need to over-do the philanthropy, right?

I began to usher the boys out into a more open space when we were met by a lady that I can only presume was somewhat in charge of the place. I politely tried to make small talk with her about all the critters and asked how many cats were crashing at the Humane pad. I was promptly informed that she had no idea and had not counted the cat herd in at least a month.

Ok. Good to know.

And with that, I pinched Tate, made him cry, and told the cat lady that it was time for us to go because one of the cats had attacked my baby.

I kid. I kid.

Kinda.

We did make a quick exit shortly after, but not before observing a very nice dog named Henry rip the head off of a squeaky toy rat, and another mandatory volunteer eat a popsicle that was covered in cat hair (I know..because he showed it to me. *shudder*).

On the way home, I asked Keaton what he thought about his, ahem, 14 minutes of volunteer experience.

His response: "Um...not exactly what I thought it would be."

Me neither, kid. Me neither.

And now I need a Benedryl.

And perhaps a shower.

***This post is in no way degrading the work of the Humane Society. Its mission and purpose is commendable and an important faction of our community. Please consider adoption if your family is looking to add a pet.

Let's Play BBAAAALLLLLLL!!!!

2010-07-13T23:22:00.000-05:00

Little League Baseball in the South is a crazy little thing.

It's splendidly wonderful and thoroughly competitive and ridiculously political. And you either choose to ride the crazy ride, or you choose to not. Because there isn't much middle ground in baseball. You're either whole-hog, or you go home. There's no "playing for fun" or "everyone wins" when a certain level of baseball is reached. It's all about the intensity of the game. The thrill of winning. The extreme talent possessed in tiny bodies.

What? You don't get it? You don't understand how we could subject our babies to such craziness and pressure?

Believe me. There are nights that I wonder why we do it. But then...when experiences happen like what we experienced this summer...then it all makes sense.

See this little guy?

He's why we do it.

Because he loves the game. And he's good. Really good. And we're proud. Really proud.

Sawyer was honored to be chosen for the 7 & 8 Year Old Rookie League All-Star team for our League. (If you don't know baseball....it's a big deal.)

All-Stars is a special team hand-picked out of the bigger league teams that brings the best players together to compete for the State title. It is a huge commitment and requires daily practices for two weeks before the District Tournament and daily practices for the two weeks before the State Tournament. What that equals out to is.....Baseball. Every Day. Every. Single. Day.

We headed out-of-town to the District Tournament the 2nd weekend in June and spent 4 days straight playing baseball and bonding as a team. We, along with several other team members and their families, chose to stay over in a hotel which is the.very.best.way. to bond with each other. Late nights talking and laughing and swimming in the hotel pool turns baseball players and fans into family.

The tournament was intense, but we were able to not only win the District Championship title, but our team was able to pull out the entire thing as Undefeated Champs!!

To say that we were proud of our boys is the understatement of the year.

As excited as we were it was time to look forward to the State Tournament. One little hiccup was that Kirk and I had planned our trip to Mexico around tournament schedules, but had not really considered practice schedules. We were left with a major dilemma. Send Sawyer on to my parents' with his brothers and have him miss a crucial week of practice before the huge tourney, or leave him in town to practice baseball. One of the hardest decisions of my life. Last thing I wanted to do was separate the boys with Kirk and I out of the country, but commitments to teams and baseball are a HUGE deal for our family. Lots of people didn't understand or agree with our choice, but we felt like we were making the best one for the situation and the circumstances. Kirk and I are so grateful to the families that took Sawyer in that week for the sake of baseball!! I'm telling you....that baseball family really is family!

As soon as Kirk and I landed, we were off and running with baseball again. It was time for the State Tourney, and we traded our swimsuits and beach clothes for uniforms and team tee shirts.

Luckily, our town was hosting the State Tourney, so we were at least able to sleep in our own beds and wash our clothes in our own washing machines. Such a blessing that was!!

The State Tournament was held over the 4th of July weekend, and it was maddening. I've never had blood pressure problems in my life, but I'm pretty sure they developed that weekend! Stressful and exhausting doesn't even begin to explain the emotional roller coaster that that level of baseball will take you on. INSANE.

Again, our team rocked it! We continued our winning streak straight through the tournament bracket. Amazing record for a group of hard-working 7 and 8 year olds! We entered into the Championship game for the State title as undefeated champs. The ONLY team in the entire tournament that had never lost a game.

Now...I'm still bitter about the ending of this story. I'm not a sore loser...I'm really not. I just want to know that the other team won fairly and squarely. And I honestly feel like our boys were robbed of a title that was rightfully theirs. I'm not sure things were played fairly or ethically, and I think our boys were given the short stick.

The Championship game was extended to two games, and we came up with losses for both games. But I cannot tell you a group of parents, coaches, and fans that were more proud of a group of kids. The boys played the very best that they could with the hand that they were dealt, and they handled themselves with maturity and amazing sportsmanship. So.Proud.

So, we ended up Runners Up in State. Not too shabby of a title, I don't suppose.

Would we do it again?

Absolutely. Because it's what we do.

It's who Sawyer is right now. And it's worth ever second.

Viva La Mexico!!

2010-07-12T20:27:00.000-05:00

I'm in the throws of planning next summer's vacation away with the husband. And I haven't even posted about this summer's vacay yet.

But that's how amazing the time away was. So blissful that I can't wait for the next one.

Want to hear about it? Well...okay...you twisted my arm....

After a VERY eventful getting-there, we finally arrived in sunny and brilliant Puerto Vallarta.

After almost dieing...even the outside of an airport is a beautiful thing!!

We headed to our resort and instantly felt relaxed. How could you not with surroundings like this....

And a view like this from your balcony...

Our resort beach was fantastic. The guys spent a lot of time boogie-boarding and playing in the water, and we girls spent a lot of time napping and sunning ourselves. We'd move from the sun to the shade of a palm tree and back to the sun again. It doesn't get better than that. It just doesn't.

This trip was so special, too, because we were able to spend it with the best company! Wes and Lisa were the perfect travel companions. We all were fine with either doing our own thing or hanging together. Exactly as it should be. No pressure from any direction. Just the same goal: Chillaxin'.

We had decided ahead of time that this trip was for the sole purpose of relaxing. There would be NO touristy stuff or partaking of anything that would wear us out. Just pure unadulterated relaxation. We did, however, venture out of the resort walls ONCE. And it was only for food and shopping.

See that? That is a plate of the best enchiladas that have ever passed through my lips. Ever.

We were told that we were not to miss out on PiPi's Restaurant in downtown Puerto Vallarta. And I'm so glad that we listened. It was beyond delicious.

I don't really have many stories to tell. Because everything was just so chilled out and relaxed. We talked a lot. And giggled a lot. And made lots of memories.

And I fell in love with my husband all over again.

I'm ready for our next getaway. Because they do my soul good.

Happy Summer!!

NORMAL...A Foreign Word

2010-07-12T11:37:00.000-05:00

I don't even know what NORMAL is anymore. But I know that I'm ready to get back to it.

These last few months have been some of the most consuming, yet glorious, months of our lives.

We've spent more minutes and hours away from home than we have in it, but yet, we've felt at home everywhere we've been. Our bodies have run a gamut of emotions from extreme elatedness to intense pain to inconceivable stress to pure joy. And we'd do it all over again a million times if given the chance. I've cried a lot. And I've laughed a lot. I've felt as though I was breathing my last breath, and I've been so happy that I've felt as though I was breathing for the first time. I've uncontrollably wept for friendships that haven't been nurtured the way that they need to be, and snort-giggled with glee over friendships that have bloomed in ways I never thought possible.  I've been extremely disappointed, and I've beamed with pride.

It's been hard.  Yet glorious. All at the same bizarre time.

But I'm ready for normalcy. For the mundane.  The routine. The expected.

I'm ready.

For whatever that is.

~~~~~~~~

It's been awhile since I've hovered around the worldwide web waters. I won't lie to you and tell you that the break hasn't been somewhat refreshing. It has. But I'm ready to get back. I'm ready to "see" my friends again. To peek into the lives that I'm so attached to. To journal again. To connect.

Over the next few days, I'll be posting about the consumption of our lives.  About the ironic way that "America's favorite pastime", baseball, can become work. About the glories of a week spent under the shade of a palm tree. And about things that could only happen to me...like breaking a Walmart register and emptying the entire contents of a tube of blue shoe polish all over a pair of white shorts and my car.

I've missed you, friends.

It's good to be back.

Wondering If Mexico Is Worth Dying For.... (Vacay Day 1)

2010-06-27T00:18:00.001-05:00

I’ve always wanted to be on the news.

In fact, my first major in college was Broadcast Journalism. I wanted to be the girl on the 6:00 news. Big hair. Preppy suits. Tapping an ink pen on the desk with a stack of papers that look super important. Yep…that was going to be me. (Why I’m not that girl is a story for another day…..)

Yesterday, I made the news.

But I didn’t have big hair. And I wasn’t wearing a suit.

Yesterday morning, we checked our bags, picked up our boarding passes, and settled in for a lovely flight (with a BRIEF layover in Houston) to beautiful and sunny Puerto Vallarta.

I was to be on a beach by lunch.

However, by lunch, I was sitting in the Houston airport for the second time that day.

Here’s the rundown:

1. Flight to Houston from Little Rock…no problems. Even ended up ironically sitting in seats with folks from our town. Weird.

2. Arrive in Houston for brief layover and begin people watching. Apparently EVERYTHING is bigger in Texas.

3. Board plane for Puerto Vallarta. But not without taking obligatory pictures first.

4. Notice that the plane is particularly warm. Sweat. A lot.

5. Become concerned when plane makes quick turn around in the air.

6. Become more concerned when pilot tells us that we are heading back for Houston due to a “problem.” Awesome.

7. Decide to make the most of it and begin to plan out Lifetime movie with Lisa that will be made about us when our plane crashes, and we are the only ones onboard ablebodied enough to save the other 165 passengers on board. I will be played by Reece Witherspoon if you were wondering.

8. Arrive back in Houston. Told that another plane is waiting on us and that we will board in 15 minutes.

9. Wait more than 15 minutes.

10. Find out that new plane is having restroom issues. It will be another 15 minutes.

11. Wait more than 15 minutes.

12. Get hit on by a scary man that greatly resembled an unsub I’ve seen on Criminal Minds and who has zero concept of personal space.

13. Take more pictures.

14. Wait more than 15 minutes. And find it extremly odd that the airport listing of flights says our flight has departed. When it clearly hadn't.

15. Find out that the plane is out of commission due to the restroom, and that we are being put back on the first plane. The one with the “problem.”

16. But we have to wait 15 more minutes.

17. Wait more than 15 minutes.

18. After 3 hours in the lovely and hospitable (ahem.) Houston airport, we are finally jetsetting our way to Puerto Vallarta.

But, Amber, you didn’t mention the news yet. What’s that all about?

Oh, I haven’t gotten to the good stuff yet….

19. Settle in with a gossip magazine and get cozy for Puerto Vallarta.

20. Get nervous when once again, plane makes sudden turn around in the air.

SURELY THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.

21. Plane begins lurching.

22. And shaking.

23. And nose-diving.

24. I begin praying.

25. And shaking.

26. And instituting death-grip on armrests.

27. Also begin seeing my babies’ faces flash before my eyes.

28. Decide that at this moment I could care less about Lifetime movie.

29. Panic.

SERIOUSLY?

Yes.

30. Oxygen masks fly out of ceiling of plane. Just like in the movies. And, for the record, they really do look like the ones the flight attendants show you in the safety walk-through.

Wait…It gets better.

31. Wes, Lisa, and I were in a row together….Row 29 to be exact. The problem is that Row 29 was looked over in the Oxygen Mask Deployment Inspection. Because…um….OURS DIDN’T DEPLOY.

32. Realize that our plane is nose-diving, our flight attendants are panicking, and our oxygen wasn’t working.

33. Begin banging on oxygen mask trap door. No dice.

34. Press flight attendant call light. HELP ME.

35. Realize that the flight attendants are too busy panicking and screaming at eachother over the intercoms to care about Row 29 and their lack of oxygen.

36. Get rescued by nice fellow-passengers in Rows 28 and 30 who let us have their extra masks. Feel comforted that fellow-civilian-passengers are more worried about your life than the people who are paid to worry about your life.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PLANE?

Actually, our pilot was amazing. Turns out that our plane cabin had lost all its pressure and all the nose-diving and swerving and wobbling was due to pilot hurling us down to an altitude where we could actually breathe. Once down there, the flight crew calmed down and assured us that we were safe. Engines weren’t blowing up. No shoe bombs were on board. And our wings weren’t on fire.

Awesome.

37. Heartrate begins to come down.

38. Hands still shaking but coming down from Mach 10 speed.

39. Are informed that we are making emergency landing in San Antonio.

Can’t even flippin’ get out of Texas.

40. Land on the airstrip complete with fire truck, ambulance, and police car escorts.

After being told that EMTs were on deck to treat us should we have experienced any medical issues, we were ushered out into the lovely airport of San Antonio. And told that ANOTHER plane was waiting to take us on to Puerto Vallarta should we wish to take us.

Awesome.

41. Told that pilot and flight crew refuses to fly due to being put on 2 cases of faulty equipment.

42. Decide that our pilot is a pretty good guy. I wouldn’t fly either.

43. Told that our flight would leave in the morning. Which means a night in San Antonio.

44. Decide that since it’s around 7:00 p.m., we could at least make the most out of our stay in San Antonio. There is the RiverWalk afterall.

45. Stay in airport for 2.5 hours waiting on mysterious hotel vouchers that seem to elude all airport personnel.

46. Decide that 9:30 at night is too late to go out after spending the entire day in an airport.

47. Make it to hotel.

48. Become concerned when given this room number.

49. Eat a huge meal on the airline’s dime.

50. Fall into bed exhausted only to start it all over again the next day.

51. DISCOVER WE MADE NATIONAL NEWS!!!

I’m on a plane now. It’s not the same plane and not the same pilot, but I feel good about actually getting to Puerto Vallarta today.

We shall see.

All I know is that the rest of our vacay had better be pretty darn fantastic to live up to almost dying in a plane crash.

***** UPDATE: WE MADE IT!!!!*****

Why We Do What We Do.....

2010-06-19T23:54:00.000-05:00

I totally get that some people don't get us.

I really really do.

People don't understand the need for a batting cage. And the hundreds of dollars spent on equipment. And the endless hours that are sacrificed at a ballpark. They don't understand how we can call concession stand nachos "dinner." And the inconveniences in schedules. And the sacrifices made on almost every level.

I think to get IT, you have to get BASEBALL.

Or maybe you just have to have one of these:

And then you, too, will turn your life upside-down. Because the joy in those eyes....it's just worth it.

~~~~~~~~

Sawyer's All-Star team is in the throws of District Tournament. We're fighting our way to the Championship game, so that we can head to the State Tournament as champions.

So far.....Undefeated!!!

But at the end of the day, it really doesn't matter if we win or lose. It's the love of the game.

And for that...we'll do it all over again. A million times over.

Aw...SpudNuts.

2010-06-19T10:27:00.001-05:00

I've failed as a blogger.

Today I experienced grandeur in the form of calorie-induced nirvana, and I have not one picture to show for it.

All good bloggers take pictures of nirvana.

But I was too busy stuffing my face with not 1...not 2...not 3...but 4 (count 'em, FOUR!) SpudNuts.

What'chu'talkin'bout,Willis?

You see, we're stuck down here in the middle of AlmostNoWheresVille (our town in NoWheresVille....and this one is a step-up...) for Sawyer's baseball tournament, and the most fun we've found is hanging out in our hotel lobby for 4 hours last night while all the kids swam in the over-rankified indoor pool. Don't say that we don't know how to party!

But, lucky for us, our bestie, Mr. Lisa's Little Slice of Life, is from AlmostNoWheresVille and knows all the hot spots for culinary ecstasy.

Enter the SpudNut.

It's what it sounds like. Well, not exactly. When I first heard "SpudNut," the Mr. Planter's Peanut Man sporting a top hat made of sour cream and chives came to mind....but that's just me. For you, I'm sure you are envisioning exactly what it is.

It's a Donut. Made with potato flour.

And it is the most divine piece of breakfast bliss that has ever crossed these sugar aficionado lips.

Skeptical?

I was, too. And then I ate one....or four.

And now I'm going to get the delight of throwing them up during my heat stroke that I'm planning on having later today at the baseball game in the 100* plus heat.

I'm thinking that won't be nearly as delightful.

Me No Likey the VooDoo

2010-06-17T16:15:00.000-05:00

I don't know how you desktop people do it.

I'm currently tethered on a short leash of cord to the internet box thingy which means I can't move freely from place of comfort to place of comfort with my laptop. And it is driving me banonkers.

Dern storm.

A couple of weeks ago this freaky 3.4 second storm blew over our house and zapped our transformer with its crazy zappy voodoo lightning powers. The same voodoo powers caused a force field to form around our house that kept all manner of electricity personnel from entering our vicinity for a full 16 hours. And while it was at it, the voodoo powers stealthily sucked the lifebreath out of three of our appliances. Sneaky sucker.

Funeral services have been held for our microwave, our landline telephone, and our wireless router.

I cried the least for our landline. Because now telemarketers can't find me.

I wasn't devastated about the microwave either. We'd had the same one since the invention of water, and it was disgustingly close to being slapped with a bright red BioHazard sticker. I actually looked on its departure as a blessing. My new shiny microwave is at least 10 years away from a good scrubbing, so I'm set.

The passing of our wireless router, however, has caused me to increase my anti-depressant dosage. For one, I don't like to sit still. And if I have to sit still, I want to sit still in my bed. Or in my chair. Or on the couch. NOT in a dining room chair. Which is where I have to sit now if I want to use my computer because SOMEONE decided that the dining room was a fantastic place to put the internet box thingy when we first got it. The lack of wireless pumping through the veins of our house also means that the computer that the boys use doesn't have internet access anymore. So whose computer do you think they peck their peanut buttered and jellied up fingers all over when they want to check on their chirpy chickens from Farmville? Mine. MiNE. MINE. But I'm not bitter. I just need a Xanax.

Oh sure, I could go to the store and get a new router. And it's on my list of things to do.

But the zappy voodoo magic also stole all my motivation. So it's easier to just sit here and whine about it.

Dern voodoo.

Happy Uber-Busy Summer

2010-06-08T15:37:00.000-05:00

Jim-Dad asked me last night when I was going to blog again. As if I'd forgone this sport forever.

Not so, Jim-Dad, not so.

I have lost my bloggy virginity, however, and come to the realization that I, in fact, can not only go to sleep at night without first turning out a post and scheduling another, but that the world does not stop spinning and planets do not implode if I, for some reason, go a day or ten without reading other people's posts. It was a long hard road of many a late night before I reached such blogger maturity, but I'm so glad I've arrived. Liberating, really. So now this bloggy habit of mine is just a hobby....not my slave-driver. With cyber whip in hand.

That being said, I actually do have really good excuses for not having shown my face around these parts for ~~eleventy hundred and twelve~~ a few days.

1. For starters, there is a new rascal around these parts. He's of the four-legged variety and is the cutest darned thing I've ever seen. He showed up one day and decided that we'd make a swell of a family (he obviously hadn't been hanging around the poochie water cooler or he'd know about us), and we decided that he wasn't too bad himself. The bigger boys named him "Lucky," but Tate and I are still lobbying for "Goober." We just look like a Goober kinda family.

Notice: If you are from around these parts, and Lucky looks familiar...too bad. He's decided that he likes us better than you. *wink*

2. I've been swallowed whole, regurgitated (you're welcome), and swallowed whole again by forever'lovin' baseball. I have always said that it was a good thing that the Lord gave me boys because I wouldn't have the foggiest idea about what to do inside a ballet studio or a cheerleading gym, but, by golly, now I'm beginning to think that it was some cruel joke played on me by the Maker. Because I guarantee that a dance studio at least has air conditioning. These 100* Arkansas days do nothing for me and my tendencies to resemble (in looks and in smell) a drenched sloppy pig once it reaches over a balmy 75*.

2A. All three boys finished up their regular seasons of baseball, and now we've moved on to All-Star Tournament baseball. Sawyer was selected for the All-Star team for our town which is a huge honor, but it just brings daily practices and a whole lot of sweat. I'm trying to remember what an honor it is as I sit on the bleachers at 8:00 at night and not on my couch watching all my summer tv shows.

2B. While Sawyer is busy slaving away on the fields, the other two boys are busy pouting. Because their baseball is over and now the family revolves around Sawyer. I tried to reassure them by letting them know that now they would have plenty of time to help me with the laundry.... They didn't bite.

3. The boys have started the summer of Vacation Bible School rounds. Yes, we're one of THOSE families. You better believe that we check-in at every.single. VBS around town. Because those are 3 hours a day for mama to have to herself. Scandalous attitude, I know. But I just look at it as the church ministering to our whole family, which I'm deeply appreciative for. Oh, and there is that learning about Jesus thing.

4. I'm busy Spring Cleaning. In the summer. The dust bunnies had started talking back to me, and our feet were sticking to the floors. See this?

That's a picture of a clean tile floor. That I scrubbed Cinderelly style. On my hands and knees. And now my family is being forced to eat and drink all manner of anything outside. Because they will lose their heads if they even so much as breathe on that floor. You think I'm kidding.

5. We've been swimming a couple of times this summer, but our usual summer stomping ground of the waterpark raised their prices this year, so now you have to sell plasma at the front gate before entering. So it looks like the lake will be our swimming pool this summer. Don't get me wrong, I love the lake...but I can only handle so much sand in my car and unmentionables, and the smelling like a fish everyday isn't very ladylike either. I did take out a second mortgage on the house the other day to take the boys to the waterpark, but it just made me sad that we can't live there like we did last summer.

See? Just busy.busy.busy. Not sure why people call summers vacation time, when people tend to be busier now more than ever, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Summer really is my most favorite time of year.

So if you don't hear from me for awhile, I'm probably just out with my family. Or scrubbing a floor (probably not). Or passed out from heat stroke at the baseball field.

Good times.

And Happy Uber-Busy Summer to you!!

Court Is In Session....

2010-06-02T07:00:00.002-05:00

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Order in the court. The Honorable Judge of Rascal Raising presiding. Today the court will hear the case of Tate "Big T" Rascal vs. Gross Nasty Mouse.

The Case: Tate "Big T" Rascal claims that upon entering the living room of his residence, Gross Nasty Mouse scurried across the floor, ran under the couch, did a 180*, ran out from under the couch, climbed 2 steps, then scampered across the kitchen floor and under the china cabinet. Gross Nasty Mouse is unavailable for court today because he has vanished, but his representation claims that Gross Nasty Mouse was never inside the Rascal residence and that it must have been a figment of imagination.

Tate "Big T" Rascal, what say you?

"Theow was a wat. A hooge wat. I saw him."

Tate "Big T" Rascal would like to present the court with Exhibit A.

"He was hooge. See?"

Tate "Big T" Rascal would like to present the court with Exhibit B.

"No wait. The wat was dis big."

Tate "Big T" Rascal would like to present the court with Exhibit C.

"No. The wat was dis hooge. Yep. Dis hooge."

The court has taken note of the size of Gross Nasty Mouse. Does the Defendant's attorneys have anything to say in regards to these exhibits?

The court has noted that Gross Nasty Mouse's plea apparently is remaining the same...that he was never at the crime scene.

Tate "Big T" Rascal would like to present the court with Exhibit D.

"I scweamed because of dat wat."

Witnesses are being called to the stand.

First witness is Sawyer, Tate "Big T" Rascal's brother: "I heard Tate scream. And I think I saw the mouse. But I can't remember." (The court recognizes that this statement is probably very accurate, as Sawyer can't remember his name half of the time.)

Second witness is Keaton, Tate "Big T" Rascal's oldest brother: "I heard Tate scream, but I was outside. I just figured he was screaming because he always screams." (Also accurate statement.)

Third witness is Tate "Big T" Rascal's father: "I just wanted Tate to make sense, so I could kill the darn thing and get on with my evening. I also utilized the opportunity to lecture the children on eating in the living room and making messes. It seemed like the right thing to do." (Noted.)

Last witness is Tate "Big T" Rascal's mother: "I was in the back of the house when all of a sudden I was attacked by a running, screaming, panic-stricken Tate who attached himself permanently to my hip for the rest of the evening. He wouldn't let me put him down for at least an hour, and we had to employ the use of a sundry mouse deterrents to even get him to think about going to sleep in his own bed."

After taking all evidence into account, hearing the testimonies of the witnesses, and the noticeable absence of Gross Nasty Mouse in court today.....

The Honorable Judge of Rascal Raising has reached a verdict on the vermin.

"Although we are depending solely on the testimony of a hyperactive 6 year old with an appreciation for a good exaggeration, the court has no choice but to find Gross Nasty Mouse GUILTY of intrusion on Rascal property. Because even the suggestion of a mouse is good enough cause for condemnation."

This court is adjourned.

And Gross Nasty Mouse is sentenced to death by glue trap should he come out of hiding. Or broom handle. Whichever comes first.

Memorial Day....

2010-06-01T13:20:00.001-05:00

Dear Soldier,

Words tend to fail me at times like this. Your willingness to serve our country leaves me with a lump in my throat that renders me speechless and paralyzes my fingers so that I can't even express my gratitude in written words. It's easier for me sometimes to just not think about it, because when I do, my emotions overflow.

I stand in awe of your spouses. And your children. And your mothers. And your fathers. And your friends. Because they let you go to places that breed affliction and exhaustion and pain just so that my family can continue to complain about mundane things like air conditioners going out and the gallon of milk spoiling in the fridge. If they are lucky and get to go with you, you cart your families all over the world so that I can stay here in the middle of nowhere complaining that Walmart is 20 minutes away. Or as is most often the case, your family goes without you for sometimes years at a time, just so that I can stay here in comfort and complain when my husband leaves me with the children for a couple of days to go on a business trip.

You're underpaid. And under-appreciated. And under-noticed.

So today, dear soldier, I want to say Thanks. Thanks for doing what the rest of us aren't brave enough to do. For doing the things that the rest of us find easier to sit around and debate; but you decided to get up and do something about. For putting up with the ridiculousness of us, the ones that you are putting your life on the line for. For uprooting yourself and your families all in the name of keeping my family free.

This weekend my family played together. And we laughed together. We spent time with friends. We ate hot dogs and grilled burgers. We ran up our water bills playing in sprinklers. And we stood with other Americans just being proud and patriotic and privileged.

And we owe it all to you. And the soldiers that stood before you. And the soldiers that will follow you.

Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.

Because these smiles are a result of your allegiance.

Did I mention Thank You?

One more won't hurt. Thank You.

Love Always and With Gratitude Spilling Over,

Amber in Arkansas

Betcha Didn't Know....Mt. Washmore Edition

2010-05-28T17:15:00.000-05:00

.....that all of my laundry is almost completely caught up.

.....that that is a huge feat for me (or if you know me well, then you do know that). I honestly cannot remember the last time that every stitch of clothing we owned was all clean at the same time. Probably can't remember it because it's never happened.

.....that the only reason it happened this time is because my nine year old son is bound and determined to own his own Wii because he doesn't want to have to share under-law with his brothers, so he lived in the laundry room washing and drying 16 loads of laundry on his own.

.....that he actually did a great job and didn't turn anything pink.

.....that I'm thinking of hiring him full time. Or holding his Wii hostage until I find 3,458,392 other jobs for him to do around the house that I despise doing myself.

.....that one of the loads that I JUST washed yesterday was a load of Kirk's camouflage. From deer season. As in last fall. As in SIX MONTHS AGO. But who's counting?

.....that also while digging through Mt. Washmore, I found a pair of capris that had been missing since last spring. I had convinced myself that I gave them to Goodwill. It was like the Tale of the Prodigal Pants.

.....that while telling my joyous tale to some friends last night, I received giggles and strange looks. Apparently I am the only one who has a plan of hierarchy when it comes to laundry. Who knew? I thought we were all in this together.

.....that it won't be long before my laundry room is completely piled up again. Because I roll like that.

Wanna play "Betcha Didn't Know"? Well, c'mon! Grab my button, plop it on your blog, and tell me something I didn't know! C'mon! You know you wanna!!!

Tate On Baseball.....

2010-05-27T17:06:00.000-05:00

Hey, Tate, what's your favorite thing to do?

Play baseball.

How do you play baseball?

To bat or glove?

We'll say bat. How do you bat?

Well, when you swing, you gotta step, um, into it, like your foot, over 4 inches of homeplate, because you are 8 of homeplate. And when you swing, you got to step into it. And when your hands are right here, you just stay there and you can hit it if you step into it.

Wow. That sounds intense. What about using your glove?

If you really want to catch it good, you put your hand on the back of your glove so you can really squeeze it. To throw it, um, if you catch it when they, um, hit a line drive, then put your hand there and you can squeeze it. To catch a grounder, then do the same thing just put your glove on the ground. Even you can do that, Mom.

Sounds like you know a lot about baseball.

Yep, I do. Well, there's still some more if you want to know some more.

Well, tell me...

If you're catcher, you stand on your feet like this and stand 12 feet away from the bag. And you put your glove right by your face and your other hand back away. And you catch it if the batter strikes out. Then you need to throw it back to pitcher.

Wow. 12 feet?

Well, maybe 13.
I don't really know a lot about shortstop, so I can't teach you that. But, I, um, I think you just squish your knees down to catch it.

Can you tell me why batters use batting gloves?

You don't really need 'em. You only need them for a wooden bat so you won't get splinters. I just wear 'em to look cool.

You are pretty cool, Tate. So who's your favorite team?

I have two. The Yankees and the Cardinals.

Tate, do you love baseball?

Oh, yes.

So who is going to win your game tonight?

Us, of course.

What do you think the score will be?

18 to 2.

I hope you play well tonight.

Oh, don't worry. I will.

Humble much?

The Denim Jumper Production of Peter Pan

2010-05-26T15:28:00.001-05:00

We've been part of our local homeschool group's co-op for the past year. Fridays were co-op days, and I'd have to remember how to get up early, shower, dress in clothes that weren't made of fleece or flannel, and actually get my family somewhere on time. How we ever made it to school last year before the bell rang, I have no idea.

Once we got to co-op, the kids would go to various classes and learn about stuff that I would never have taught them at home. Like art history. And suturing a pig's foot. And how to make a duct-tape wallet. You know...the crucial things in life.

If I'm being 100% honest, co-op was way down on the list of my favorite places to be. Come Fridays, it was all I could do to muster up the gumption to put on mascara and go. And most days, the only thing I looked forward to about the day was that we would always go to The Shack for pizza afterwards.

But I muddled through the year because the boys loved it. The social interaction was a blessing for Keaton especially, and...well...they learned how to make a duct-tape wallet.

And this past Friday night, it slapped me in the face. All the getting up early and trying to wipe the obvious bad attitude from my face every Friday morning had finally shown what it was meant for.

One of the classes that the boys were in was a Drama class. They put on a great production at Christmas, but for their Spring Production, they were taking on the daunting PETER PAN. It is possible that I called their drama teacher (also a sweet friend) "CUH-RAZY." Both behind her back and to her face. Because I knew the kids that were involved....

The thought of it just made me snort-giggle. PETER PAN. Yah...okay.

I ate my snort-giggles Friday night.

Because they rocked it. Our rag-tag group of ragamuffin redneck homeschoolers busted out one of the greatest children's theatre productions I have ever seen.

Now...we aren't Broadway ready, mind you. But no one freaked on stage. And everyone remembered their lines. And no one was killed backstage. SUCCESS!!

To top off the fun for the kiddos, they were granted permission to hold their production in the Theatre on OBU's campus! Quite a step up from the church platform that they had been practicing on.

Here's some PlayBill worthy evidence:

That's cutie-pie Tate on the right. He was Indian Chief Great Big Little Panther. And he said stuff like: "Yohr ow hewoah, Petuh Pan." Nothing like an Indian Chief with a speech impediment. Spoon-worthy.

Aw...the Lost Boys. The traditional script says woodland creatures; but a prior church production of already-readied Noah's Ark costumes says jungle creatures for us! We're a resourceful group, I tell ya!

Sawyer was the Very Lost Zebra Boy -- Terry

And Keaton was the Super Lost Elephant Boy -- Tootles

When Keaton wasn't Lost, he played the part of Father. A Father who thought that the Mother was gross. Have no idea how Wendy, Michael, and John came about. Crack.Me.Up.

This is Father before his party...when his tie wouldn't tie.

And this is Father at the end of the play....AFTER THAT PARTY....it must have been a doozy!! *wink*

It really was an amazing production. My friend S did a great job ~~putting up with~~ leading our kids! We're so super proud of all of them.

Shame on me for wanting to pull our family out of co-op.....because if I had....I'd have missed this:

And that's just too good to miss.

Friday Brain Jumpings

2010-05-21T13:45:00.007-05:00

I had hairapy this morning.

I plopped myself down in the chair and while my sweetie-pie of a hairdresser wrapped me up in her swanky zebra striped cape, I told her that I would be her blank canvas today.

I tend to have a severe case of A.D.D. when it comes to most things in my life, but my hair is a major case in point. I can only stand to have the same cut for awhile, and then I'm bored out of my mind. I'll spend umpteen months growing out on-my-nerves bangs, only to waltz right back into the salon to have her cut me a new set. And I'd change the color of my hair just as often if I could afford the sticker price.

Thank the Precious Lord, I have a hairdresser that I trust wholly and completely. So today I just let her do her thang.

And I'm so happy that I did.

I'm now outfitted with a flippy swingy sassy new summer 'do.

But you'll have to wait to see pictures...because I've worn all the day's mascara off and the big zit on my chin is shining....and I just found out that lots of folks in my town read my blog that I didn't know read my blog and now I'm suffering from major issues of self-conscious-isms.

UPDATE: I've reapplied my mascara and am now ready to be seen in public.

Moving on.

While I was at hairapy, the boys were busy driving their drama teacher banonkers. Our homeschool group is putting on a fantastic performance of Peter Pan tonight, and they have been dress rehearsing all day.

I'm very excited to see the play this evening, but I am planning on stuffing a Xanax ~~or three~~ in my purse and slipping it to the director before the first curtain comes up. Because if she wasn't crazy before for taking on such a huge project with our rowdy group of hellions, she, for sure, is crazy now.

Speaking of crazy....

Did you watch Grey's Anatomy last night? Shut.the.window.and.call.me.Edgar. I think that episode drained 5 years off my life.

While we're on the topic of my life....

In an effort to spare my children's lives and my sanity, school is officially out for summer. No, we didn't technically totally "finish." But, yes, we accomplished what we needed to to successfully pass everyone on to the next grade. I think if we had spent any longer trying to do schoolwork just for the sake of saying we were doing schoolwork, then all 4 of us would be dead. And I probably would have taken the husband down with us....just for looking at me the wrong way.

So hooray for summer vacation!!

Speaking of summer vacation....

We're almost exactly a month away from boarding a plane for Mexico and holding down a couple of beach chairs for a week. I've never been more excited about doing absolutely nothing in all my life. The only thing I'm dreading about the trip is that a swimsuit is required wardrobe. And a swimsuit is the last thing I want to outfit my body in right now. But I still have a month.....

Surely I will morph into Heidi Klum by then.

I'm sure of it.

OOOHHH...Heidi makes me think of famous people...which makes me think of American Idol...

What about that cutie pie Lee Dewyze?? I've been his Numero Uno fan from the beginning, and when he started crying with his daddy on this past week's show, I was done.in. Love me some Lee.

In other news, our sweet precious niece Moriah graduated from high school this past weekend in Missouri. We made the trek to Nowheresville to share her big night, and we were accompanied by more Budweiser t-shirts and do-rags than even a motorcycle rally could stand. High.Class.Peeps.I'm.Tellin'.Ya.

But oh.so.proud of her.

Isn't she the cutest?

Cute. I'll show you cute. Have you ever seen anything more precious?

That's Tate. Our teeny tiny feller that breathes, eats, sleeps, and dreams baseball but can barely fill out the toddler sized baseball pants. Couldn't you just eat him with a spoon?? I know! Me, too...so back off. I have first dibs.

And in an effort to be all fair in love and offspring, here are my other baseball stud muffins.

Still cute as pie, but they've moved out of the spoon-worthy stage, which makes my uterus mourn. Sniff.

On that note...

That's all.

A Story. About Scissors.

2010-05-20T15:05:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time there lived a family. There was a father, a mother, and three sons. Though everyone in the family loved each other very much, they had an uncontrollable desire to irritate the ever-lovin' fire out of one another.

On one particular rainy day, the mother of the family was working on a very last minute project. For the project, she needed her good sewing scissors. The scissors being the ones that are placed in the mother's equivalent to Ft. Knox to keep them safe. For the mother knows that if she were to leave her good sewing scissors within reach of her family, then they would inevitably be used for everything from opening packets of beef jerky to giving the family cat a haircut. And this would make the mother want to scream at the top of her lungs and make unrecognizable noises.

So as the mother walked to Ft. Knox to retrieve her safely kept sewing shears, a funny feeling began to gurgle in her stomach.

What's this? Surely the scissors are safe and sound.

The mother proceeds with extreme caution. Surely her feelings are wrong. Her beloved scissors with their pristine blades and sharp tips are most certainly going to be waiting for her.

But, alas, as the mother opens up the cabinet and takes out the drawer which holds the majestic pair of cutivity, her heart sinks. Then begins to pound wildly. Where, oh, where, are the scissors? No one knew of the sacred hiding spot but her. Who could have done this? Surely the scissors of such valued snippery were involved in some kind of cutlery rapture. Anything but what she knew was horrifyingly a more likely possibility.

The mother turned slowly from the cabinet and drew in a deep breath. With the breath, horns sprouted and fangs grew. The healthy hue of her skin turned to a putrid shade of green, and steam became to vomit from both her ears.

The three sons who were presumably involved so innocently in a round of video games must have heard the stampede of terror that was heading straight for them. Their faces turned to see their gargoyle of a mother figure forming words with her mouth, but because of her level of angst, no sound was made. All three sons instantly threw up their hands in an "I surrender" position and then immediately ducked and covered.

The mother began to regain composure as she questioned her offspring about the missing jewels of the clipper crown. And though she hoped for a straight answer as to who had done what with the one thing that had, up until this time, remained sacred in her overrun-with-testosterone home, all she was met with were shoulders shoved up into earlobes and dazed over gazes.

The mother walked away to count to 3253 when she stumbled across something. Something that made sheer panic squirm through every inch of vein.

For there, on the table, were the scissors. Those blessed slicers of wonder. Covered. In a hearty coat of tacky glue.

And 3 innocent faces claiming absolutely no idea of how such a blasphemous ordeal could have happened.

Oy.

Once upon a time there lived a family.

The living happily ever after part has yet to be determined.